


And Your Bird Can Sing

by Abagail_Snow



Series: And Your Bird Can Sing Universe [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:39:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 57,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abagail_Snow/pseuds/Abagail_Snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's called a publicity stunt, sweetheart. Haven't you ever heard of it? People watch someone fall for you and then they love you too." Actor Peeta Mellark and singer Katniss Everdeen, a modern day love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Money, It's What I Want

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought I'd say it, but I started to wonder what The Hunger Games series would be like if it were a romantic comedy and a satire of reality television and how celebrities are portrayed to the public. This is a modern day piece that takes place in Pittsburgh and Los Angeles when Katniss and Peeta are around 18/19 years old.

Katniss Everdeen flipped open the tarnished buckles of her guitar case and lifted the instrument to her lap. She was hardly a professional, in fact she only knew a few basic chords, but it was enough to get by. When she first started performing she used a CD player as a backing track. She'd come a long way since then. Her calloused fingers tested the tension of the strings along the neck of the guitar. She plucked a few notes and twisted the keys at the head until the pitch was to her liking. Setting it back in its case, she moved to the mirror.

The bulbs lining the edge were bright and she had to squint to inspect her reflection. Her gaze lifted to her hair. The curls she once thought of as soft and beautiful were limp and frizzing. Her eyes that were painted smoldering now looked dull and sunken. Finally she looked to her lips. The shade of her lipstick looked ridiculous against her olive skin. She shut her eyes tightly for a moment and then opened them again. No improvement. Taking a step back, she combed her fingers through her lifeless curls and quickly braided her hair down her back. She looked better with it pulled back, she decided and then vowed not to look at her reflection again.

Tonight was a career making night for her. She had played this bar a few times before. She had played a lot of bars along East Carson Street, but The Seam was by far her favorite. It was cleverly named after the Pittsburgh Coal Seam and themed as such. Thursday nights you could mine your own path on a wall length ice luge with a pickaxe. They specialized in a series of flaming shots using goldschlager (nobody was dumb enough to drink a shot full of fake diamonds.) The wait staff wore cutoff denim shorts, tight white tank tops, and a helmet with a light attached to the top. All things she found to be not at all tacky.

Truthfully, the only reason she favored The Seam was because Gale Hawthorne was the bartender there. He was her best friend growing up and that relationship was one of the few she had maintained into her adult life. He was also the one who got her the gig (after learning that she and her sister, Prim were living out of her '98 Civic.)

There was a tap at the door of the storage closet that doubled as a dressing room for the entertainment. Katniss fisted a bundle of tissues to blot at the remnants of color that stained her lips. "Come in," she called, her voice muffled behind the tissues.

Gale poked his head from behind the door, the hardhat of his uniform crooked on the top of his head. His gray eyes flickered down the length of her body before he scowled. "Will you stop doing that," he said at her fussing. "You look real nice."

Katniss dropped the ball of tissues to the trashcan by her mirror and licked her lips, tasting the papery remnants that now colored them like powdered sugar. She frowned. "Is he really here?"

"We've gone through two bottles of Wild Turkey and the sun's still out," he said with a smirk. "So yeah, I'm pretty sure he's here."

It was ten minutes to show and Katniss felt her nerves well in her stomach. Haymitch Abernathy was in tonight's audience. Haymitch Abernathy was to hear her sing.

He was a legend in these parts. He was once a legend around the world. In the 1980's, Haymitch fronted a glam metal band called Quarter Quell, that played to packed stadiums across the country. They were still at the top of the charts when their tour bus busted through a guardrail along the Pacific Coast Highway and careened off a cliff into the choppy waters bellow. Haymitch Abernathy was the sole survivor. All his band mates and all their girls were dead. He became a recluse after that, returning to his hometown of Pittsburgh where he came out only at night and only when he was out of liquor. Even all these years later, there was still a push from the media for him to tell his story. Everyone wanted him to clean up his act and record a new album. A phoenix from the ashes. An easy few bucks for the record label by reaping the reward of nostalgia.

Katniss Everdeen was banking on this too. She didn't care if Haymitch Abernathy ever sang again. She just wanted his name to get her foot in the door. She wanted Haymitch Abernathy to be her manager.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Gale asked and leaned his shoulder against the door frame.

"He knows this business," Katniss replied. "Prim and I can't live this way forever. There's nothing left for us here." She lifted the strap of her guitar over her head and cradled the instrument in her hands.

Something resembling hurt flashed across his heavy brow. "And you think he's going to pack you up to Los Angeles and turn you into a singing sensation?" He asked.

Katniss knew that Gale was hesitant about her leaving town. They weren't together, had never even tried to be, but they were something. Companions. They looked out for one another. Understood one another better than anyone else could. If Katniss knew how to love somebody, like a woman loved a man, she was sure it would have been Gale.

She took his hand into hers and gave it a soft squeeze. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have. It always led to angry and complicated places that she wanted to avoid.

"What are you going to sing?" He asked. His voice was tight and he could only look at their joined hands.

"Waiting for Me," she said, and her chest tightened for a moment. The song was about her father but she knew what Gale thought of when he heard the haunting lyrics.

There was another knock at the door and Katniss let out a sigh of relief. "Showtime," she said and forced a smile to better lighten the mood.

Gale only frowned, but managed a supportive nod. "Break a leg," he mumbled.

It was just past seven thirty when Katniss made her way to the makeshift stage in the corner of the tavern. The Seam had a popular enough menu to garner a dinner rush and as she scanned the crowd she noted that every table was full. She positioned her stool behind her microphone and took a seat. There was a hush across the room as diners took recognition of the show that was about to begin.

Katniss tapped the microphone to ensure it was live before she spoke. "Good evening everyone," she said timidly. She cleared her throat to speak with more confidence. "Hope you enjoy." She positioned her guitar in her lap and aligned her fingers for the opening chords of her song. There was an anxiety hanging around her that made it impossible for her to move. Her eyes moved across the crowd, searching. Where was he?

Then she saw him. Hunched over the bar with an empty glass wrapped in the crook of his elbow. His hair was shorter than it was when he was famous, though still long enough to frame his ragged face. He never turned to pay her attention and she found herself growing frustrated. She began to strum the opening notes, never letting her eyes leave his blank face.

_Out in the meadow_

_Beneath the oak tree_

_I'll be waiting for you, will you be waiting for me?_

_The blanket of clouds_

_Open to a sea_

_I'm still waiting for you. Are you coming for me?_

She could feel every pair of eyes in the room on her, every pair save those she was calling to. She felt frustration well within her and began to strum with more force. The sound filled every corner of the room and bounced off the walls as if they had been thrown.

_I'll go follow the sun_

_Till it trails flames cross the sky_

_The moon may arrive_

_But I won't rest, I won't lie_

_A light breeze may pass me_

_So soft past my cheek_

_I've been waiting for you, have you finally found me?_

If there was applause, Katniss hadn't heard it. All she could focus on was Haymitch Abernathy tiredly waving his hand at Gale, while he impatiently shook his empty glass in the other. He hadn't even stopped to listen, all he could think of was his drink. To his credit, Gale was pointedly ignoring the drunk and he clapped for her as enthusiastically as someone stoic like Gale could.

Katniss couldn't help but grin at her friend's loyalty. At the same time she could feel her window of opportunity closing rapidly. She had to get Haymitch to notice her. She needed to do something to get his attention. There was a rage growing within her. How dare he come to her show and not even listen? Fiercely, she began strumming the strings of her guitar again and growled the lyrics she knew would pique his interest.

_Pittsburgh City, man it ain't pretty_

_Take me downtown then bring me back again_

_Hey there baby, shake me till you break me_

_I'll fill you up, you'll kick me down, damn is that crazy?_

The crowd was clapping along, hollering and chanting the lyrics. The song had always been a crowd pleaser in this town, especially when it was a part of Quarter Quell's set list. Before she could make it to the chorus, Haymitch met her eye with an icy stare. It was so piercing, she lost her tempo and stumbled over the next few notes. He got the message, that was for certain.

_Did you have a question?_

_Another hand for the pot_

_I'll take you for granted_

_Come on show me what you've got_

With his jaw set in a straight line, Haymitch gave her a grin that she couldn't decipher as amused or annoyed, before he stormed out of the bar. Annoyed, she decided.

Panic spread through her as she watched her ticket sail through the door. Gale must have followed this scene as well, because before she could think, the song began to blare over the The Seam's stereo system and Gale was mouthing the word _go_ to her.

She ducked out quickly, leaving her guitar on the stage as she darted toward the exit. Haymitch had been drinking all evening. All day even. He couldn't have gotten very far.

It was just past dusk, but the street lights lit the street with a white glow. Katniss rushed to the edge of the sidewalk to survey both ends of the road. Her neck stretched and her limbs elongated, all in hopes of getting a few more inches of vantage. A surly chuckle from behind her interrupted her search. Katniss twisted quickly and nearly slipped from the curb in the process, all of her senses were heightened from her hunt.

Haymitch stood only a few feet away, his body leaning heavily against the front window of The Seam as if his feet couldn't carry the weight themselves. He chuckled again, but his eyes were sober. "You're a real piece of work," he said.

Katniss approached him carefully. She still couldn't read this man. She couldn't tell if his words were amused or biting. Whether she should be encouraged or fearful. She attempted to swallow her pride. It didn't hold. Instead she lifted her chin and stared at him challengingly. "I don't like to be ignored," she said with an even tone. Katniss Everdeen had a temper with a short fuse. Anybody that knew her could tell you that. You didn't even have to know her all that well.

"I can tell," he said. He reached into the pocket of his jacket to retrieve a flask. Unscrewing the cap he took a long swig before wiping his mouth across his wool sleeve. "I don't like it."

For a moment she felt disheartened, but she didn't let it show. "Then why'd you come to the show? You obviously have your own refreshments."

He licked his lips, his gray eyes flickering with the same stubborn flame that Katniss' held. He seemed to consider her question and then shook his head as if he were just coming to the answer for the first time.

"I kept getting e-mails on the account I don't check. Then flyers in the mail I don't read. And then last night when I was at the liquor store, the front door was wall papered with advertisements for this little show," he paused to curl his lips into that smirk of his. "I was starting to worry for the trees."

That had been Prim's idea. She was awfully clever.

"You weren't listening," she said, and folded her arms across her chest.

"Was that a requirement?"

"It was the general idea," she nodded dumbly.

"You should be more specific next time," he grunted before taking another swig from his flask.

Her brow arched curiously. "Next time?"

"No," he said quickly. "Don't get any ideas." He lifted up a warning finger to properly deliver his point. "In fact I don't even want to know what you want. Just wanted to let you know: I got your message."

Katniss leaned against the window beside him and he made no move to leave. "I'm guessing you don't want to hear my sob story about my dead daddy and absent mother then," she said flatly. "And the little sister who wants to go to med school even though there's not enough financial aid on this planet to pay for it."

He rolled his eyes. "And I'm sure your day job is reading to blind children and helping out at the animal shelter," he added with a heavy sigh, yet his tone was still light with amusement.

"Euthanizing maybe," she said and he snorted in surprise.

"The animals or the blind people?"

"I hear drinking too much can cause blindness," she shrugged with a challenging grin. "Why don't you wait and find out."

Haymitch shook his head, his lips pressed into a tight grin and he held out the flask to her. She accepted it wordlessly and took a long swig. She was in, she decided.

"I don't sing because I love it," she finally explained. "In fact, I don't even like it that much. Not for a crowd."

"And you're sharing this inspiring story because?" He asked.

Katniss considered this for a moment. She wasn't good with words. It was easy to scheme and strategize, but when it came to implementing plans that required some form of persuasion, she always relied on Prim. Everyone loved Prim and more importantly, Prim loved everyone. Katniss was like Haymitch. All she wanted was enough money to never have to deal with people again. Misanthrope. Money. She could work with this.

"The house you live in, the one with the mile long driveway on the four acre lot," Katniss began. "How much did that cost?"

He looked at her carefully before he spoke. "A somewhat shiny penny," he said.

"And the liquor you drink," she nodded towards his flask, remembering the biting, yet smooth taste. "It may not be top shelf, but it isn't the cheap stuff either."

"One of the perks of the lifestyle," he agreed.

Katniss lifted her chin thoughtfully and let the corner of her lips lift into a knowing smirk. "The royalties must be nice," she said. "To stretch so far. I'm sure the bottomless pit will never show its bottom."

"Have you been talking with my accountant?" He asked, but it was obvious that he had already caught on to what she meant to imply.

"You haven't worked a day since that accident," she said, getting to the point. She paused to test the water before proceeding. "The money's going to run out. There's no way you can live this way forever. One day you're going to have to swallow your pride and answer their calls."

He nodded in recognition and said, "And you're offering to be my voice?"

"I'll make the money," she said. "You just have to open the doors and hold them for me."

"Are you sure you can handle it?" He asked. His mood shifted quickly. He seemed fully sober now and there was a haunting chill in his eye. He was talking about them. The friends he had lost, the life he lived now.

Katniss felt her breath catch at his intensity. Her footing seemed to shift and she overcompensated by standing stiffly, her eyes unmoving. "I'm not afraid," she said tightly.

"Fine," he said, pushing off from the wall and onto his feet. "Then pack up. We're leaving for LA in the morning."

"What?" She demanded.

"I have an audition for you," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Do you have a standing appointment or something?" She questioned. "I can't just leave tomorrow!"

"Literally twenty seconds ago, didn't you declare that you could handle the spotlight?" He said pointedly. "Be careful sweetheart, that whole tough act you're trying to put on is already cracking."

She cleared her throat and took a breath to calm herself. "Why tomorrow?"

"There's a game show. A singing competition," he struggled to remember the name and waved a hand in hopes of conjuring it in his memory. "The Mockingjay. The executive producer is always trying to get me involved with it. You're going to be a contestant."

"That show had open auditions weeks ago," she said unimpressed. "How are you doing me a favor? I'm sure it's already been cast."

Haymitch let out a deep chuckle. "You think those auditions are real? That all of the final contestants just happened to be heavily featured throughout the entire 'open audition' process," he asked with mocking air quotes.

Katniss hadn't thought much at all about The was more of a pop star popularity contest. She couldn't even name a single winner, that's how successful their careers were. She couldn't help but think that he was testing her again. Seeing how far he could push her before she proved how unworthy she truly was. "All right," she said. "I trust you."

She watched Haymitch steadily as he made a phone call to arrange their travel. Her mind was racing. What would she do with Prim? It was the middle of spring. Prim still had school and there was no one else to take care of her. She couldn't just pluck her from class to follow her on a reality show. Would she even be allowed to bring her along?

The show would only be a few weeks, she reminded herself. She wouldn't be gone forever. The Hawthornes would look after Prim and she would compensate them for their troubles, she decided. Not that Prim could ever be a trouble, in fact she'd be a welcomed tenant. Especially for Hazelle, who was always looking for an extra set of hands to look after Vic and Posy.

"First flight of the morning," Haymitch said, distracting her from her thoughts. "Don't get too excited. You're flying coach."

Katniss shook his hand graciously and he left for his waiting cab. It was getting late and she'd have to go home to pack. She slipped back into The Seam and described her encounter to Gale. He seemed skeptical, naturally, but only nodded somberly when she informed him that she had accepted Haymitch's offer.

He hugged her tightly before she left and whispered parting words in her ear. "Don't lose yourself. You hear me?"

She carried her guitar home with new purpose. The opportunity she'd been waiting for was at the tips of her fingers, finally within her grasp. It felt surreal, but at the same time hollow. This had never been her dream. Those types of things were silly. Katniss was a realist. She had been ever since she had to grow up too young. Dreams were for fools. She only did what was practical. What it took to survive.

The only exception to this was her sister, Prim. She would do anything to make her sister happy and would deny her nothing. Prim was a dreamer. She dreamed bigger than the moon and would shine brighter than the sun. The only way Katniss would be able to provide for Prim's dreams of becoming a doctor though, would be to win the lottery. Prim was bright, but she wasn't the smartest in her class. She'd be eligible for some scholarships, that was for sure, but a free ride was all they could afford at this point.

Singing was the only thing that Katniss was good at (that and perhaps her camping skills, something that wasn't exactly going to pay the bills.) When she sang, people stopped to listen. She learned that on the streets during her days of busking. She always drew the largest crowds. It was a gamble to rely on something as unpredictable as show business, but the reward would be worth it.

Katniss pulled into a spot in front of her apartment building and turned off the engine. The third window up, second from the left, glowed with light meaning that Prim was home. Their building wasn't in the best part of town and Katniss hated having to leave her sister alone at night.

Prim was in the kitchen, putting away clean dishes. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her hair in a messy bun. She looked so grown up for a moment that Katniss had to remind herself that she was nearly fifteen now. She wasn't just her kid sister anymore.

"Did he come?" She asked hopefully, her blue eyes shinning with excitement.

"He did," she replied. "All it took was two songs," she said, omitting a few rather important details.

"I knew he would love you!" She clapped her hands excitedly. "Are you going to begin recording right away? I bet he has a huge studio in his house."

Katniss frowned. Moving across the small living space, she shrugged off her jacket and let it drop onto the couch. It was met with a hiss. She pushed aside the leather jacket and the bundle of blankets until she was met with a pair of round yellow eyes focused on her with a challenging glare.

"Please don't be mad!" Prim pleaded.

A matted orange cat with his nose pushed upwards between his eyes swatted at Katniss with claws fully extended. Katniss darted away and lifted her hand at the feline, ready to strike back.

 _Buttercup._ Never in her life had she anticipated that her sworn enemy would come in the form of a nine pound lump of fur.

"You know we can't have pets here Prim," she said pointedly.

"He's been looking for us Katniss. He's been sleeping under your car every night waiting for us to come home!"

The flea bag had adopted them outside of a Wendy's dumpster during their stint of being homeless. It was the first full meal that Katniss was able to purchase for her and her sister in weeks and Prim just had to share it with that _thing_ because it looked _so hungry_.Prim didn't realize how hungry _she_ looked too. Needless to say, the cat was smart and knew how to cash a free ticket. They hadn't been able to shake the thing since.

"I'll look after him, I swear. You won't even notice he's here!" Prim clasped her hands beneath her chin and her round blue eyes were glazed with threatening tears. In an instant she looked like a child again.

Katniss tried to keep her expression hard, but her face immediately fell. "Fine," she groaned. "But you're going to have to check with Hazelle to see if having that vermin in her house is all right."

"The Hawthornes?" She asked. "Why are we staying there? Are we in trouble again?"

"No, we're doing fine," or as fine as the minimal requirement. Katniss moved to the kitchen and traced her fingers along the awful puke green colored Formica counter top. "I just have to go away for a little while. To Los Angeles. It was a part of my agreement with Haymitch, to get him to represent me. I'm going to be on The Mockingjay."

"The Mockingjay?" Prim squealed. "Katniss that's amazing. _Everybody_ watches The Mockinjay! You'll be signed for sure. You'll win for sure, I just know it!"

"I'll do my best," she replied, not having the heart to say otherwise, especially when Prim seemed so excited about the prospect. "I'm not sure how long I'll be gone. It may be only a week." She approached her sister and held her shoulders at arms length. "Be sure to lend a hand at the Hawthornes," she instructed. "Even if Hazelle insists you don't have to."

"I don't see why I have to stay there," she said with a huff. "I'm almost fifteen! I don't need a babysitter."

"It's not you I worry about," Katniss lied. "It's the morons that live in this building."

Prim rolled her eyes, but didn't argue. "I'm so excited for you," she said instead and threw her arms around Katniss to hug her tightly.

Katniss squeezed her sister tightly. "When I get back, we'll have enough money to send you to the best medical school in the country," she said. "I promise."

Prim pulled away with a frown. "And you'll be doing what you love too," she said and took both of Katniss' hands in hers. It was supposed to be a statement, but there was no denying the questioning lilt to her tone. "Right?"

It didn't matter what Katniss wanted. She lived a simple life. All she wanted was for her sister to be well fed and happy. She didn't need any happiness for herself. Didn't hold metrics for her own benefit. To want something was a dangerous waste of time. But she wouldn't lay that burden of guilt on her sister.

"Of course," she said in reply.


	2. Norwegian Wood/Tomorrow Never Knows

Peeta Mellark pulled his jet black STI up to the curb in front of The Capitol, a kitschy restaurant off Robertson Boulevard. It wasn't the fastest or most luxurious car on the market, there were plenty of flashier (or ridiculously expensive) vehicles that he could afford, but he had so much fun driving the thing, he just didn't care. He slipped out the driver's side door and tossed his keys to a waiting valet attendant.

Immediately he was assaulted by a chorus of shutter clicks and blinding lights. It was late in the evening and the sun had long set, but suddenly it was brighter than day and Peeta could only see white. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes and bowed his head as he tried to locate the sidewalk through the flashes of light that reflected like glitter off the hood of his car.

"Peeta!" A man hidden behind a video camera shouted. "Tell us, do blonds have more fun? Or is it red heads?"

He chuckled and combed his fingers through his shaggy bronze locks, his eyes still trained downward toward the asphalt. "Now that I've lived the life? Red, definitely," he replied, even though it was the studio's answer and not necessarily his.

It took ten attempts to find the perfect shade of red for the role of Archie Andrews, and since Peeta was a natural blond he was like a blank canvas for the hairstylists. Half the dyes left him looking like a carrot, the other half like a tomato, he couldn't step foot in the produce department for weeks due to the trauma. Finally they found a nice, dark rusted shade that looked almost natural. Now that post production was nearly complete and all the promotional images shot, he was looking forward to transforming back to the Peeta he recognized in the mirror.

"Has anyone told you that you look like a young Finnick Odair?" Another voice behind a camera called.

"Finnick Odair wishes he looked like me," he quipped, knowing Finnick would get a kick out of that one later.

Moving to the passenger side, he pulled open the door and offered out his hand for his date. She accepted with delicate fingers against his palm as she climbed out of her seat and onto her dangerously tall heels. Peeta deliberately paused to press a kiss to her cheek before turning back to the paparazzi.

"Peeta! Are you Team Betty or Team Veronica?" They eyed his date. "Or do we really have to ask?"

"Easy, Team Jughead," he said playfully, and placed a hand on the small of his date's slender back. "I can't help it, I'm partial towards brunettes."

"Maureen!" They shouted at his companion, and she vacantly turned her sunken chocolate eyes to focus on them. "What do you think of Peeta's current do? Which look do you prefer?"

Maureen chewed her gaunt cheek between her teeth, her eyes continuing to drift across the crowd of photographers in a daze. Peeta noted her absent stare and tightened his grip around her waist. "I'd hope she'd say any look," he said lightly and began to guide her towards the restaurant's entrance. "But with this ugly mug, I'd have a hard time choosing a single one!" He added with a sheepish grin.

"You two fell in love on set," another voice shouted from the haze of light. "Any comment on the comparison to power couple Brangelina?"

"Those two are inspirational humanitarians," he replied easily in his rush towards the door. "Being mentioned within the same breath as them is quite an honor."

"Like they care about the humanitarian part," Maureen sneered offhandedly from beside him. "They only care if we're fuc–," Peeta gripped her hand tightly to cut off her uncensored comment and yanked her behind him.

Passing through the main door, Peeta waited for it to shut behind him, effectively blocking out the crowd of photogs. He held Maureen at an arm's length and inspected her carefully. Her dilated pupils flitted randomly around the bare lobby. "Are you all right?" He asked.

"I'm wonderful," she said with a breezy air to her voice. "It smells divine in here!" She exclaimed. "I think I could eat the entire kitchen!" Her pin straight black hair fanned out as she spun on her toes before she floated into the dinning room.

He watched her hesitantly as she spoke with the maitre d' and followed when she enthusiastically waved him along. "This restaurant is just fantastic! Don't you think, Peeta?" She asked as they settled into a petite table tucked into the far corner. She rested her cheek on the white tablecloth to watch the flame of their candle lick above the edge of the shallow holder. "I think you should paint it."

He glanced around the room. It was nothing special. The lighting was too dim, the ceiling were oddly high, and even though the room was reasonably large, there were only a handful of tables. It seemed like a waste of space. The only features he found somewhat interesting, was the glass features on the wall that cast a warm rainbow of light around the otherwise dull room. "It's all right," he shrugged.

"All right?" She questioned and lifted a hand to touch her fingers to the smooth texture of the polished glass. "It's lovely. When you open up your hamburger on a cupcake shop, it should look exactly like this."

"It's not a –," he interrupted with an extended pointer finger. Pressing his lips together, he quelled his exasperation by trapping his words into his fist. "It's a savory bakery," he corrected calmly (for probably the thousandth time.) "Like Beef Wellington or soup in a bread bowl," he explained. "And we'd serve salads on a crouton wafer instead of a plate and yes, you can choose any type of bread to put your burger on. Even a cupcake."

She grinned, "Will you replace chopstick with those stale skinny breadsticks so you can eat those too?"

He frowned. When she put it that way, it did sound a little silly. He lifted his menu and absently began scanning the contents. "So what do you want to do this weekend?" He asked, changing the subject. "We could go to the beach or maybe go shopping. We haven't done that in a while."

Maureen had turned her attention to her silverware and ran the silver prongs of her fork against her bottom lip as she contemplated his suggestions. "Let's set fire to the studio lot and then go dancing," she decided in an eerily calm tone.

"Okay," he said drawing the final syllable past its normal phonetic interpretation. "Let's add that one to the short list."

"You're no fun" she said and dropped her fork to the table. She folded her arms across her chest and slouched against the back of her chair in a very undignified manner. "You could be so much fun. Maybe in a few more years."

Maureen was only two years older than him, but she had been in the business since she was ten years old. Because of this, she treated him like a child. "One day you'll understand" she'd always say in a condescending tone.

Peeta let out a heavy sigh and leaned across the table to speak with discretion, scooping her small hands within his in the process. "Maureen, how many?" He asked.

Her eyes locked with his and took a moment to focus over the dim orange glow of the flame. "Only two," she said.

"No more," he said and his voice sounded stern, like his father. He didn't like it.

"No more today," she agreed.

"I would prefer no more ever," he said hopelessly. "You don't look well."

"I feel well," she said and reached for her water glass to press against her forehead with a content sigh.

"But only after the pills," he prodded.

"It's always better then," she said.

The waiter came back with soup that he didn't remember ordering and their drinks, served in garishly shaped glasses.

"I worry about you," he said, when the waiter left.

"You really shouldn't," she said, lifting one of her tiny shoulders into a shrug. "You don't have to take care of me. It's not like this is real or anything. Nothing here is."

"No," he agreed. "But that doesn't mean I can't still care about you."

She dipped her finger into her tomato bisque and painted a heart on the back of his hand.

"You're such a nice boy, Peeta," she said. "Some girl is going to absolutely wreck you one day."

"But not you," he said and he swiped his tongue across the tangy drawing, erasing it from his skin.

"Oh no, not me," she agreed. "That's because you don't love me."

"I don't know," he said. Picking up his spoon, he dipped it into his own soup and swirled it through the creamy liquid, casting wisps of steam across the surface. "Maybe I could. We get along well enough."

It was true. They spent plenty of time together and he didn't hate it. Maureen wasn't the type of girl he would generally find himself attracted to, she was a bit too righteous for his tastes, like she had lived so much more than him and was always talking down to him. But at the same time she was clever and kept him in his place and they could carry on a decent conversation.

She let out an airy laugh and he tried not to take it personal. "You're not built for this world," she shook her head knowingly. "You're too vulnerable. You feel too much. It's dangerous when you wear your heart on your sleeve the way you do. It allows anyone to just have their way with it."

There it was again. She knew everything, and he was but a mere neophyte on the cusp of understanding.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, brushing her comments aside.

"You don't?" Her voice lifted with an incredulous tone. "You play a role for the camera and before you leave the studio you've already memorized your pages for the evening's script, except this time it was written by your publicist instead of some bitter, underpaid screenwriter."

"So?" He asked. "That's a part of the job, isn't it?"

"It is," she agreed. "But you can't leave it well enough alone. No. They tell you to love me and instead of just pretending like any other actor playing the part you go off and do something foolish by letting genuine emotions get involved."

"Perhaps I went a little method," he decided. "Besides, I never said that I actually loved you. I just said I could be swayed." Feeling upset from their argument, he reached for his drink and took a long drag off the straw. It didn't help and he found himself staring at her hard and angry with her. "Maybe I don't want to be like you," he said evenly. "Chasing away every emotion the way you do. Living such a hollow existence."

"If I don't feel it, then they can't take it from me," she said tightly. She pursed her lips together calmly, her expression unmoving. "You'll understand one day," she said simply, before reaching for her clutch and rising from the table.

"Where are you going?" He asked. "I thought you said no more today."

"This conversation is making me upset," she said, but her tone was still empty. "I don't like it."

"Forget I said anything, please," he called after her, drawing attention from the neighboring tables. Peeta slammed his hand against the table in frustration and quickly bowed his head to shield his face from the growing audience.

You'll understand one day. Peeta rolled his eyes. Understand what? Why everyone in this town was so cynical? Not all of his friends relied on pills, but they all had some form of defense mechanism. Johanna Mason used bitter sarcasm to keep people from getting too close. Finnick Odair used suggestive humor. It all seemed silly to him. He was grateful for the opportunity that so few were given.

So he had to pretend to like certain things from time to time. It wasn't like he was loyal to a specific soda brand, and it wasn't like at this stage of his life he was interested in settling down with a serious girlfriend. He didn't mind all of the promotional acts because at his core, he still felt like the same Peeta Mellark who had left Pittsburgh two years prior. While others, like Maureen seemed to be deeply affected by the studio's control, he felt that he had managed to survive thus far reasonably unscathed.

Several minutes later, Maureen returned to the table and floated back to her chair.

"Better?" Peeta murmured, but couldn't hide the biting edge to his voice.

She grinned wistfully. "I have a marvelous idea." she began coolly. "When you open your crouton chopstick shop, you should have a corn dog on the menu that you can have dipped in the cake batter of your choosing."

Peeta only frowned and finished his dinner in silence.

The rules of The Mockingjay were this: the country was split into twelve geographic regions, where an open audition was held at a designated capitol city. From these twelve districts, two contestants, one male and one female were selected to compete in Los Angeles at their arena. The first week of the game was prerecorded and included five days of preparation.

The first day of prep was the staged audition sequence to introduce each contestant, followed by the opening performance, which was a group number that revealed the finalists. Katniss' story was to focus on her being an orphan (even though her mother was very much alive, albeit absentee) and on Haymitch, and how he took her under his wing to mentor her.

Katniss stood awkwardly in the hotel lobby waiting for her "mentor" to grace her with his presence. He'd pretty much abandoned her the moment they stepped off the plane in LAX. In fact, he barely acknowledged her at the airport in Pittsburgh and on the plane he sat in first class, while she was cramped in coach.

Not only had it been her first trip to the West Coast, it was also her first time flying in an airplane. She didn't travel much while growing up. She had taken a few school trips to Philadelphia and Washington DC, and before her father died they had spent a summer visiting amusement parks like Cedar Point and Hershey Park. In general though, they remained within a fifty mile radius of the Pittsburgh city center.

Katniss couldn't even pause to absorb the experience. There was no time to show weakness. Less than twenty four hours ago she was on the edge of nothing. Now she stood alongside twenty three contestants that were hungrier than her, perhaps even more so. She refused to let any vulnerability show, no matter how out of place she felt.

On top of that, with Haymitch Abernathy as her escort, she had a giant target drawn on her back. Not by the show runners, they were positively delighted by her presence (in that genuinely warm Hollywood way, that was not at all genuine and not at all warm,) but by her rivals that were bitter by the blatant favoritism she was shown. Katniss felt guilty because she didn't even want to be on the stupid show. Whatever message Haymitch was trying to send by placing her in the competition was still unclear. She thought he wanted to maintain his anonymity, but in this room it was clear that she was but an opening act to his headlining show. It didn't matter to her though. It was all about the paycheck in her mind.

The cameraman who had been assigned to her let out an annoyed sigh, causing her to jump from her thoughts. "Are you sure he's going to be here? Because the producers, they're sort of banking on this Haymitch guy to bring the ratings this year."

"He's here, I promise," she said. "He's just a little jet lagged," she explained, even though what she really meant to say was hungover, or perhaps currently intoxicated. She could already picture him sprawled out on the floor of his hotel suite in front of an open mini bar with miniature plastic bottles scattered all over his unconscious body.

There was a bustle of people carrying props and camera equipment up and down the corridor of conference rooms. Katniss tried not to get overwhelmed by the flood of faces as they raced by, not paying any attention to her or regarding her if she was in their path. Contestants filtered in and out of rooms carrying paper numbers to clip to their shirts and she found herself sizing up her competition with piqued curiosity.

Production had reserved three banquet halls from the hotel and each room was transformed into a different region by changing out chairs and hanging a backdrop behind a fake window that resembled the skyline of whichever city they were supposed to be holding auditions in. While one room was occupied by the judges and that region's contestants, the other rooms were being re-purposed for the next district.

Katniss spent the entire afternoon in the lobby watching from an oddly shaped, plush chair as the rooms morphed from the bright lights of the Vegas Strip for the first district to the seaside Tampa for district four. The Golden Gate Bridge was the backdrop for the third district, Nashville for eleven, Chicago for ten. Katniss' district, which was the Appalachian Region, was the twelfth and final district and represented by a view of the Pittsburgh skyline from across the Monongahela River.

There were more than twenty four contestants on this day. The open auditions, that actually did take place in their capitol cities, selected a series of dummy contestants. The judges weren't even present at these tryouts, she had learned, only a handful of producers, who were mainly looking for some eccentric personalities to make the audition episode more entertaining. Katniss wasn't sure if they knew they were dummy contestants though. They all seemed so genuinely eager and encouraged before they faced the judges, no matter how awful their singing voices were. It seemed like an emotion that was too hard to fake.

"Your region is on deck," the cameraman warned. "We really should have completed your segment by now. You're supposed to be in makeup in thirty minutes."

Makeup for an amateur audition, meant adding about ten pounds of powder to make sure the contestants looked natural, yet attractive on camera. Heaven forbid one of the winners not be good looking.

Katniss smiled tightly and rose to her feet. "I'll call his room again," she said. She'd called his room six times already with no success. The only way she would get Haymitch down to that lobby was through blunt force.

Approaching the front desk, she bounced her hand against the brass bell on the counter impatiently. A hotel clerk appeared and Katniss was relieved that it wasn't the same woman who had checked them in separately and had been assisting her all morning in her quest, since she knew full well that Katniss had no right into Haymitch's room.

"May I help you?" The woman asked.

Katniss tried to conjure up a sob story to win the woman's sympathies. "I'm locked out of my room," she landed on lamely. "Abernathy. Room 451."

The clerk eyed her skeptically for a moment before turning her attention to her monitor. "I see you've inherited your father's charisma," she said as she programmed a hotel key.

"I'll be sure to pass along the compliment," she said evenly, trying not to gape at how simple it was to get into his room.

After a short elevator ride and a stop at the ice machine, Katniss was at Haymitch's door. There was no reason to even try knocking, she'd attempted that several times already. Instead she swiped the key through the reader and waited for the light to flash green.

Much as she anticipated, the room wreaked of liquor and vomit. Haymitch was stretched out face down across the checkered blue carpet. She'd think he was dead if he weren't snoring so loudly. Stepping into the room, she debated whether to leave the door open, too fearful of losing the clean air that the hallway provided. She was already gagging at the awful stench.

She positioned herself over the unconscious rock star and dumped the entire contents of the ice bucket onto his head. He jolted in response and scrambled to his feet, failing on the first several attempts and settling with a sitting position.

"What are you doing in here?" He grumbled incoherently. "Why am I all wet?"

Katniss innocently set the bucket on top of the mini bar and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, you must have just taken a shower or something."

He narrowed his eyes and lifted an arm to smell his pit. "That seems doubtful," he said with a scowl.

"Well then clean up," she instructed. "In half an hour you have to at least pretend to be sober."

It took an entire pot of coffee and although Katniss thought it would require a full Silkwood to remove his noxious odor, after a quick shower, Haymitch was nearly presentable. The cameraman tripped over himself in shock when Haymitch finally appeared and Katniss found herself smirking arrogantly at the man for doubting her.

"So this girl managed to drag the famous Haymitch Abernathy out of retirement," the cameraman said while he reviewed the list of questions he was supposed to run through. "Is she really that good?"

"She know what she's doing," Haymitch replied. "What she lacks in humility, she makes up with in talent." He tossed a glance her way and spoke more to her than to the camera. "I think she'll learn a thing or two by being at the mercy of the viewing public. You know, evolve as an artist and that whole character building thing."

Katniss rolled her eyes and pressed her lips to a tight smile. "I'm very grateful for the opportunity. And that Haymitch is willing to take a chance on me."

"Is that it?" The cameraman asked curiously.

"Yeah," she said shortly, confused as to what she could be missing.

The film crew positioned themselves for some candid shots, leaving Katniss and Haymitch to their own devices while she waited for her "audition."

She found herself moving rigidly with the camera lenses focused on her. Even though only the operator was watching her at this point, all she could think of was the fact that in a week all of America would be watching this footage and judging her every move. Other contestants were huddling together in groups as they waited for their names to be called, only one of them was her preselected competition. Katniss found herself isolated at the craft service table, eying each boy in the room trying to detect her counterpart.

"I don't know why we're wasting our time trying to promote you as a pop singer when your calling is obviously as a homebody," Haymitch commented dryly, but kept an exaggerated grin plastered across his face for the sake of the camera. "The warmth you radiate is comparable to Antarctica, I'd say." He looked at her and chuckled. "Be careful sweetheart, you're scowling again."

Pulling back her shoulders, she threw her head back and giggled sweetly. "Oh Haymitch, you're such a hoot!" she said through a beaming grin and patted her hand against his chest.

After what seemed like an eternity, Katniss' name was finally called. She was the last contestant the judges would see. The cameraman followed her closely as she made her way to the banquet room.

"Any parting words?" He asked.

She looked directly into the camera and swallowed back her nerves. "This is for my sister," she said.

The audition room was filled with a sea of floor to ceiling banners that created a narrow trail from the room's entrance to the platform on which she'd perform. Some banners had the logos used to represent each of the twelve competition regions, some included past winners (few of which she recognized,) others included the host, Caesar Flickman, and the three celebrity judges.

Katniss stepped onto the small stage and found herself face to face with the three keepers of her fate. Claudius Templesmith, a notorious record producer, had a pig like noes and bright blond curls that were piled high on top of his head. Cressida Troy, a music video director, sat beside him. She had a shaved head, an intimidating nose ring, and her arms were covered from shoulder to wrist with a mural of tattoos. Finally there was Johanna Mason, a previous victor (there, Katniss could name one) and now actor who's biting commentary made her a fan favorite that brought her to the judges' table when a position was vacated. As usual, she was dressed sweetly in a bright flowery dress that was accented with a pink headband. That was her shtick. Lovely looking girl with a harsh tongue that caught anyone who didn't know her completely off guard.

"You're Haymitch's prodigal star?" Johanna asked incredulously. "Wow. I expected someone with larger hair, wreaking of lighter fluid."

Ignoring her commentator, Katniss lifted her chin and began to sing, rendering Johanna Mason speechless.


	3. Get Back/Lucy in the Sky

Peeta Mellark woke before the sunrise for the fifth morning that week. Ever since his argument with Maureen at dinner, he hadn't been able to sleep a moment past dawn. It was as if his baker's body was seeking revenge for years' worth of abuse of late nights and even later mornings. It bothered him, considering the possibility that perhaps, Maureen had a point. Maybe he was losing a part of himself.

Too stubborn to cede to the thoughts, he lay in bed for a full forty five minutes and stared at the ceiling. There was a sloppy joint between two sheets of drywall that watched him from the clean white surface. The screws used to secure the plaster left dimples in their wake, taunting him. How had he never noticed this before? The construction was awful! How could a 1.75 million dollar house have such ugly scars? He frowned. He had never been so critical of appearance in the past.

Unable to contemplate his judgment of the trivial imperfections for a moment longer, he shot to his feet. He made his way downstairs to the kitchen with purpose. It wasn't until he was standing behind the oversized marble island that he realized he hadn't an idea as to where anything was stowed. He'd been living in the house for months now, but in that moment he couldn't recall the last time he had actually cooked anything. It took three mistaken cabinets before he finally located the glass bowl he was in search of. With one small victory accomplished, he took to gathering the rest of the ingredients and lined them across the clean marble counter top. He then began to methodically prepare a batch of dough.

It was then that the impossible happened. He forgot how much flour went into a country white loaf of bread. It was the most basic recipe in his repertoire. He had known it by heart. Baked it a million times. Yet as he stood with a fist full of flour poised over the edge of the bowl, he couldn't for the life of him remember how much went into the batch.

Peeta shook away the thoughts and began to dump hand fulls into the mixture, hoping that the measurement would come to him through motor memory. If freshly hatched turtles could seek the sea on instinct alone, he too could find his way. Once it looked to be about the right consistency, he covered the bowl and pushed it aside.

Now he was supposed to wait. That much he could remember.

His phone began to sing and he looked at it curiously before checking the number on the display. Six thirty on a Saturday morning, he thought with a knowing grin. Effie Trinket. She'd been calling him no less than twelve times every day for the past two weeks.

"Effie, do you have any idea what time it is?" He asked in greeting. He tried to sound stern, but couldn't stop the way his grin affected his tone.

"I'm sorry Peeta," Effie said politely. "But this is important. It's about your costar," she paused and Peeta felt his chest tighten in anticipation for the worst. "She's in rehab!" Her voice was so heavy with disgust it made the term _she's in rehab_ sound synonymous with _she murdered an entire village of women and children._

That was Effie Trinket in a nut shell, overly polite, always insensitive.

"Maureen?" Peeta quickly assumed. Her habit of blending prescription meds and snacking on them like Skittles was bound to catch up with her eventually. He was actually relieved that she was taking the proactive approach. But then he remembered it was Maureen that they were talking about. She wasn't the type to reach out for help or admit she had been wrong. "Is she okay?"

"Of course not!" His publicist exclaimed. "The studio wants nothing to do with her! Her career is over!" She lowered her voice to speak in a tone that could be confused with concern, but was actually that of giddiness over a juicy piece gossip. "She's been cut out of all the promotional material!"

He flinched. Getting cut out of promos was like the kiss of death around this town. "No, no, I mean like physically. Is she going to be all right?"

"Who knows?" She answered and suddenly seemed disinterested about the whole thing. "It's not like it was court ordered or anything. She's been photographed at too many clubs looking vacant. You know how those sorts of rumors spread. I'm sure her people think it will clean up her image, but the studio is having nothing of it."

"Should I go visit her?" Peeta asked and scratched a finger against his temple. "I mean we are _supposed_ to be dating?"

"That's why I've called, since the matter is so urgent. We can't have you going about associating with someone so unstable!" Effie explained, her dramatic tone returning in full force. "That agreement has been terminated."

"Okay," he said carefully. "Thanks for letting me know. I'll be sure to be decidedly less romantic thanks to your helpful guidance." That was the best way to get Effie off the phone. She had some sort of internal tracker for compliments and refused to end a conversation until her ego had been properly stroked. Peeta was being proactive, so they could avoid the tedious "fishing" portion of their usual exchanges.

"It's not that simple, Peeta!" She shrieked as if it were the most obvious thing. "The studio has a lot of money invested in this franchise. Your face is the largest on the movie poster. They're relying on _you_ to make this film a success."

"I know," he sighed. "But aren't there other ways to get my name out there? I don't know like doing missionary work or opening that restaurant I wanted to do."

"And I think your carb factory restaurant is a great idea, really I do," Effie said, but there was an obvious disdain in her voice that she couldn't hide. "But let's try it the studio's way first, okay?"

Peeta frowned and rolled his eyes, thankful that he was hidden behind his telephone from Effie's judgmental gaze.

"Maybe when you're older and established you can live out your silly little dreams," she explained. Again her voice was polite, always polite, no matter how harsh her words were. It made her impossible to hate (although Peeta was awfully close in this moment.) "Until then, they own you. Understood?" Effie didn't wait for his response and continued. "Now, I'll have a list of Panem Pictures approved replacements by the end of the day. Until then, you are single, single, single and waiting for love to find you. Also, our hearts and prayers are with Maureen for a speedy recovery. That was your official statement."

"That seems perfectly personal," Peeta said wryly. As usual his sarcasm was not caught by his chipper publicist. "I'll be looking forward to the lineup," he added.

Hanging up the phone, he felt the urge to hurl it across the room.

 _One day you'll understand,_ he could hear Maureen's airy voice taunt. He refused to allow her to be right. She wasn't even in her right mind. After a bit of detox he'd consider her sage advice. This was only a phase, this feeling of being trapped. It would pass.

He _liked_ being an actor. He didn't mind being a public figure. He didn't want to believe that being famous would automatically make him a tortured soul like Annie and Finnick and Maureen and Johanna.

His first film had been an independent venture. The movie was filmed in his hometown of Pittsburgh and the director paid for the whole thing on a couple of credit cards. There were no execs and no photogs, just a group of people looking to make a piece of art. It was the best summer of his life. The film wound up being an award magnet and at only sixteen years old, he became the breakout star.

He did a few studio pictures after that, but none of them were as bad as working with Panem Pictures. They were like a dystopian oligarchy with all the micromanaging they did with their stars. If they hadn't bought the rights to the Archie comic series, he never would have worked with them. The script was just too good to pass up and _the_ Seneca Crane was lined up to direct. There was no way he could pass on the project, especially at such a pivotal point in his career.

Now that he was eighteen, people were paying attention to his draw and his ability to carry a picture. The casting of Archie was extremely competitive. It was unheard of for some indie darling to beat out so many Hollywood heartthrobs. The studio was taking a risk on him and he had to prove his worth.

The only problem was that Panem Pictures didn't have confidence in him to pull it off. Thus, he was thrust into a series of publicity stunts to put his face on magazine covers and get his name to scroll across every entertainment ticker. It started out bizarre, but simple. He was given a stalker. A small blaze caused minimal damage to his apartment. He was paid a lot of money to go to product launches and to wear certain labels.

Then when filming began, he was told that he and Maureen would be dating off screen. It wasn't like it was an arranged marriage or anything. They weren't forced to _do_ inappropriate things. Their publicists just arranged for lunch dates to leak to the paparazzi so that they would be there with cameras ready. It had its perks too. Sometimes they'd get floor seats to Lakers games, compliments of Mister Snow himself. All he had to do was keep his arms wrapped around her through the whole game and kiss her when the Kiss Cam just happened to land on them.

It bothered him though, what Effie said about the studio owning him. He was suddenly struck with the feeling that he was being molded into something that he wasn't. That he was a product, not a person. He could barely remember who the real Peeta Mellark was. He didn't want to change.

Shaking away the frustration of his thoughts, he reached for the bowl to check on the dough he had prepared. It hadn't risen. That had never happened to him before.

* * *

After surviving the "audition" process, Katniss and the other twenty three contestants were placed in three days of training. Each day ended with a performance. First a group number, then a duet, the final night, a solo performed only in front of the judges (and camera crew.) The judges weren't privy to the training footage, but would see each performance. After the solo performances, the judges gave each contestant a score between one and twelve. These numbers would count for sixty percent of their final score. The other forty percent was based on viewer votes. Once those scores were tallied, the top ten contestants were selected and fourteen cut. They called that cut the bloodbath. Those who received high judges' scores were all but guaranteed a spot in the top ten.

Groups weren't assigned, so on the first day of training, Katniss found herself as the odd man out. There was an unspoken division of the talent. Regions more notorious for producing talent like New York (the second district) or Las Vegas and Los Angeles (region one) were known to pair up for group numbers and duets to boost their scores. During the nineties, when the Gulf Coast was spitting out boy bands on a regular basis, they too were considered a "Career District," but now were more of a wild card.

Almost immediately, Katniss noticed that the contestants from one and two had paired together as well as the girl from four. She saw the boy from New York appraise her from across the room, but instead of approaching her, he picked up the boy from twelve (some kid from Lexington, Kentucky that she had barely spoken to.) Immediately, she recognized Two's strategy. The frontrunners liked to team up, but they could also recognize a threat. Not only did they exclude her from their pack, they inflated her district partner's score, who would be more of a competition to her when it came to splitting the region loyal voters.

It didn't work though, because after the three days of training, Katniss was awarded with the show's first perfect twelve. She had sung Quarter Quell's greatest power ballad "Force Field" to a standing ovation.

Katniss stood before her dressing room mirror to inspect her reflection. It was the first live show, the kickoff for the real games to begin. At the end of the night there would only be ten contestants left and Katniss' opportunity would either take off or be instantly crushed.

"What happens if I don't make it past the blood bath?" She had asked Haymitch before the judges' scores were announced. They had an arrangement, but the terms were undefined. Haymitch had gotten what he had wanted. The show runners were fawning over him, showering him with all the liquor he could carry and all he had to do was sit off to the side during her interview sequences and nod stoically. Apparently his gruff and temperamental attitude came off as wise and heroic. The distant look that glossed over his drunken eyes was mistaken as tortured.

"Just hang low and don't make too much of a show of yourself," he had instructed. "It's going to be an awfully long and disappointing plane ride home for you if you don't stay alive in this game. I've got all the exposure I need to live in solitude for the next five years, princess. I ain't going to play fairy godfather to you any longer than I have to."

Oh how she cherished the loving father-daughter like relationship she had developed with her caring mentor.

Katniss touched her fingers to the perfect curls that tickled her bare shoulders. Her makeup had again been heavily applied to make her look natural, yet flawlessly beautiful. All of these features paled in comparison to the dress that she wore.

For the first live show, the contestants were dressed lavishly in outfits that celebrated the region they came from. It was almost reminiscent of a beauty pageant, pitting district against district with hometown loyalty. They were each assigned their own stylist to transform them into unattainable rock stars. Katniss had been assigned to Cinna, an up and coming designer whom had become the only bright spot in her first week of the games.

He understood her and made her feel at ease. His outfits were always extraordinary. Drawing the eye with subtle, yet extraordinary details that hugged her body with perfection and never made her feel discomfort in front of the cameras. Tonight he had out done himself.

When Katniss had first learned that they would be dressed to represent her home, she was convinced she'd be wearing a Penguins jersey and nothing else. "What is Appalachia famous for?" Cinna had asked with a gentle almost melodic tone that hypnotized her into ease.

"Moonshine?"

"Coal mining," he corrected. Immediately, Katniss was assaulted by the image of The Seam standard uniform with that helmet with the light attached. "And what is coal known for?"

She placed her hands on her hips. "Cramped tunnels and grime?"

Cinna only laughed and placed a garment bag on the hook on her dressing room door. "Diamonds," he said as he pulled down on the small zipper to reveal a bodice that sparkled with diamond like crystals. He paused halfway though and his lips turned into a lopsided grin. "And fire," he added and stripped away the garment bag to reveal the skirt that bled into vivid yellows, reds, and oranges. He swung the dress through the air and the light danced across the crystals causing the colors tangle and mix like flames.

She couldn't believe how light it felt, even with all of the intricate beading. It was the only thing she could look at as she stared at her reflection. "You're going to be the only thing they remember tonight," Cinna said stepping beside her in the mirror. "Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire."

"What if they don't like me," she said gravely.

"The judges already love you," he reasoned.

"The judges love Haymitch," she corrected. "Not many people like me. I'm too cold. I don't know how to be _nice._ "

"Well I like you," he said and stepped behind her to make some final alterations on her dress. "That's got to mean something."

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide her amused grin. "You _have_ to like me."

"You're not the only contestant I stylize," he said, tipping his sleek black sunglasses down the bridge of his nose so that she could see the honesty in his gold lined eyes. "Trust me. I don't _have_ to like anyone."

"Fine then," she said. "You're a fluke. A one in a million. Even if that tipped the odds in my favor, that wouldn't help much, I thought you weren't even allowed to vote."

He turned her to face him and placed his hands on her shoulders to hold her at arms' length. "You're right, I'm not. But if I could, I'd bet on you."

There was a knock on the door and a stage hand waited on the other side, looking disinterestedly at a clipboard, while he mumbled commands into his headset. "Sixty seconds to show," he said and directed her to the hallway where the other contestants stood in line.

They funneled slowly through the back doors until they were swallowed by the stage lights and suddenly millions of sets of eyes were watching them all at once.

The rest of the show was a blur. The host Caesar Flickman swept back and forth across the stage introducing clip packages, bantering with the judges, engaging in brief conversations with the other contestants. Katniss could only answer his questions vacantly in the midst of her distraction. She was nearly paralyzed with fear as her eyes tried to fix on the blank faces in the darkened crowd. Somehow she found Cinna and an ease swept through her.

"Isn't my dress just wonderful?" She said to Caesar when their conversation had waned.

"It is lovely," he agreed. "I don't think just this view is doing it justice, why don't you give the viewers at home a little spin."

Katniss nodded and began to spin, shooting flames from her knees up to her waist as her skirt caught the wind like a parachute. She spun around until she was dizzy and the audience clapped with delight, their applause consuming her. She rode on that high for the rest of the night, her lips frozen in a bewildered grin as the final ten were announced one by one.

"The last finalist for this year's Mockingjay is Katniss Everdeen," Caesar announced before the stage lights went dark and the show was over.

She had done it. She had survived the first night. Perhaps people liked her after all.

"Don't get too comfortable," Haymitch said after she had finished brushing out her curls and washing away her stage makeup. "You came in last out of the top ten. If it weren't for your high judges' score you would have gone home."

She frowned, but tried not to appear affected by his statement. "So I'll just have to continue to charm the judges," she said as she braided her long hair down her back. "They'll hold onto me so long as it means they'll have access to you."

"The judges' scores may be fixed," he said. "But if you can't get the public to vote for you, you're no good to this franchise. If America can't bother to pick up their phones and text "vote" to your number, they sure as hell aren't going to drop some money to listen to your album. There's only so much my notoriety can get you."

"It's not like I was ever going to win," she argued. "Everyone knows that the boy that looks cutest behind a guitar _always_ wins. It's the same thing every year."

"That," Haymitch said quickly and pointed at her, like her words had been tangible. "That right there is why people don't like you. You act like you're better than them. Homeless girl trying to send her sister to med school, aspiring artist inspiring retired musicians, that gets you nowhere when you flash that little attitude of yours."

She felt defensive and stubbornly folded her arms across her chest. "I never even wanted to be on this stupid show! I was looking for a record contract, not some stupid popularity contest!"

"This is a test run sweetheart," he said. "Haven't you ever heard the term good things come to those who wait?" He set his jaw and his face tightened into a grimace as if the next words he was to say would be painful. "Look, you've got talent. That much is obvious, but if you want people to notice you, you need star power. You don't have that, not even a little bit. You're about as charismatic as a dead slug."

"Fine then," she decided. "How do you do it? Your personality is even less desirable than mine and yet you're beloved by a nation. What's the secret?"

Some emotion that Katniss couldn't decipher flashed across Haymitch's features. His brow creased and his eyes grew distant but in a flash the moment passed and he cleared his throat to regain his usual gruff appearance. "Got any other famous friends to join your campaign?"

* * *

Peeta found himself at the Cornucopia, a swanky night club off Hollywood Boulevard, which had a maze of tables that spiraled towards a large bar with shiny brass counter tops in the center. Peeta sat at the farthest table, secluded from the crowd that gathered at the bar and traced his finger along the lip of his glass. It was a Thursday night and the club wasn't as crowded as it usually was on a Friday or Saturday night. He kind of liked it that way. It was more quiet and intimate.

"What's with the ennui?" Finnick Odair asked and nudged his shoulder playfully as he slid into a chair beside him.

"Expanding our vocabulary now are we? Is there a new Aaron Sorkin script floating around that I'm unaware of?" Peeta asked flatly.

"Kevin Williamson," he corrected. "Should you really be drinking?" He asked and swiped away the beer that Peeta had been nursing for the better part of an hour. He took a swig and cringed at the lukewarm liquid. "I heard your girlfriend is taking an extended spa vacation of the detoxifying kind."

His words were rather cruel, but Finnick knew as well as Peeta how ridiculously scripted their lives had become. Finnick was a few years older than him and had been acting since he was fourteen. He was an instant hit with the tween crowd, but after he turned eighteen there was an even bigger interest from the adult crowd. Since then, Finnick was promoted as a Hollywood playboy who dated a series of older actresses. The affairs were always brief and never serious, as the studios wanted to keep him the object of every housewife's fantasy.

"She's not my girlfriend anymore," Peeta corrected.

"Ooo," Finnick said, maintaining the amusement in his voice. "The studio is playing it that way, are they?"

"My thoughts are with her and wishing her a very, very, _very_ speedy recovery," he said mimicking Effie's chipper, yet hollow tone.

"How long until you're cuddling up with the next young, hot thing?" Finnick questioned.

"If Effie had it her way, it would have been about fifteen seconds after Maureen signed along the dotted line for inpatient treatment," Peeta said and snatched his beer back from his bronze haired friend. He paused to ruffle his own rusted locks and chuckled. They could almost pass as brothers with this look. "Unfortunately for her, the studio hasn't green lit a suitable replacement yet."

"And poor you has to keep up the high profile, bachelor lifestyle in the meantime?" He replied as he flagged down a waitress to order more drinks. "Excuse me, miss," he said, placing a hand on her forearm to get her attention. "Do us a favor," he began and curled his finger to beckon her closer in a conspiratorial manner. "Could you whisper your favorite joke into my friend's ear?"

The waitress eyed Finnick curiously, but obliged, placing her hands on Peeta's shoulder to steady herself as she positioned her lips directly next to his ear. If he weren't a gentlemen, he'd notice the perfect vantage point he currently held over her cleavage. Instead he kept his eyes trained on the wall on the far side of the club. Her hair smelled like peaches and whatever fragrance she wore was a blend of lavender and vanilla. There, Peeta's lips curled into a content smile, his baker's instincts weren't lost after all. "What did the psychiatrist say when a man wearing nothing but saran wrap walked into his office?" She asked and he had to lean closer to catch her voice. "I can clearly see your nuts!"

He chuckled and followed Finnick's encouraging gesture by resting a hand on her hip. "That's a good one," he said and she giggled, her face so close to his that their noses brushed together.

"Psych major," she said, rather pleased with herself. Peeta nodded and tried his best to seem interested. "I'll go get those drinks," she excused herself with a bashful smile.

"Well if that doesn't make Page Six, I don't know what will," Finnick said, his eyes scanning the crowd for observers and he winked at a table of girls when they were caught spying upon them. "In fact, I'll save them the trouble and just report it myself," he slipped his iPhone from his pocket and began typing out a message.

"Doesn't it ever make you feel sleazy?" Peeta asked, he voice tight with discomfort. He'd always been a flirt growing up, there was no denying that, but something about the way they used these women for their own gain, it didn't sit right with him.

Finnick finished his anonymous tip and pocketed his phone. "It's just for show, that's all," he shrugged. "It's not like we're taking advantage of them or sleeping with them or anything. Just a little harmless flirting for the gossip rags."

Peeta frowned and slouched against the back of his chair. "I guess I'm just getting tired of pretending all the time. It's getting hard to remember what's real and what isn't."

His friend stared at him carefully for a moment. "This isn't about Maureen, is it?"

"No," he rolled his eyes. "I wasn't in love with Maureen." Shaking his head, he narrowed his eyes. "How do you and Annie get by? Wouldn't it just be easier if you went public with your relationship? Annie's a famous runway model, I'm sure she's high profile enough for you two to get by."

"It's about balance," Finnick explained, leaning his elbows against the tabletop, he used his fingertip to map out his advice across the brass surface. "Making time for your personal life and your professional life. Mixing the two? That's just dangerous."

"And it doesn't bother her?" He challenged. "Seeing you flaunted all over the place on the arm of some beautiful woman?"

The waitress returned with their drinks and Finnick flashed another one of his most charming grins. "Woman after my own heart," he murmured and toasted his drink towards her, eliciting a timid giggle from the waitress.

Finnick paused to wait for her to leave earshot before he continued. "Sometimes there are things you need to keep for yourself," he began and his glassy green eyes turned distant for a moment. "Being in the public eye, they want all of you. It's a part of the territory. They want to choose who your friends are and who you love and it's not just the studio who has an opinion. The fans have their ideas too. They want the characters they see to be real, so it's better to keep it that way. A character. If you let it be real then they'll use it against you."

Peeta lifted his beer and took a long sip, his frown unable to ebb. "And you never worry that you'll fall for one of your fake romances?"

"You've never been in love, have you?" Finnick chuckled, his voice turning light and teasing.

"I don't think so," he shrugged. "Maybe. I wouldn't even know the difference anymore."

Finnick's eyebrows arched playfully. " _Anymore_?" He patted Peeta's back roughly, causing him to spill his beer. "You've been holding out on me. Who was Young Peeta absolutely smitten with?"

A heat crept through his pale cheeks and he bowed his head to hide his embarrassment, while he busied himself by wiping up the amber liquid with a napkin. "I don't know," he said. "There was this girl in high school."

He could still remember the first time he saw her. She was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. She wore a red plaid dress and two braided pigtails and she stood before the entire class to sing "America the Beautiful," while every bird in the sky paused to join her melody. Even at five years old, he could tell that she was something special.

They always ran in different crowds growing up, and even though he was reasonably popular and outgoing, he could never work up the courage to talk to her. He would never forget the way his heart clenched in his chest every time he saw her, like she was grasping it in her fingers. Like it belonged to her even if she didn't know it. He spent many years trying to chase that feeling. Willing himself to recreate it with other girls, but he was never able to escape her hold.

"Had to leave her behind?" Finnick asked, startling him from his memory.

Peeta chuckled, "Oh no. She didn't even know I existed."

"I'm sure she does now," he said. "She'd probably trip over herself for a chance with Peeta Mellark."

"I doubt it," he shook his head. He'd been in school plays, won wrestling matches, earned academic awards and she'd barely bat an eyelash at him. "She never seemed to be into the whole spotlight thing." He sighed and dropped his gaze to his hands. "I'll tell you though. When she sang, I could feel butterflies in the pit of my stomach. She had no idea. The affect she had."

The humor drained from Finnick's perfect face and he pressed his lips together tightly. Reaching across the table, he covered his hand with his and gave it a squeeze. "Never lose those butterflies," he advised. "That's what separates what's real and what isn't."

Peeta tried to shake off the faint flutter of butterfly wings as he thought of her and drowned them away with a healthy drink from his beer. He wondered now, whatever happened to Katniss Everdeen.


	4. Got to Get You Into My Life

Katniss looked down at the slip of paper in her hand to match the numbers with the ones that hung over the door's awning. Running her finger down the line of apartments she pressed firmly on the button that was placed next to the name "Undersee," written in neat script.

There was a bit of static on the intercom and then she heard a voice. "Hello?"

"Madge?" Katniss replied into the microphone.

"Katniss!" She heard Madge shout excitedly. "Let me buzz you in!"

She waited for the harsh ring that unlatched the door and made her way up the staircase. Madge waited for her at the top of the stairs with open arms. "It's so nice to see you again," she said as she pulled her into a hug.

Katniss stood frozen for a moment then awkwardly closed her arms around her acquaintance. That's what she and Madge were, acquaintances. They had grown up in the same school district and shared many classes, but they weren't the type of friends that traded bracelets or spent weekends at the mall or movies or anything. They were just two people that got along well enough.

Madge was the principal's daughter, which made her status intimidating to their classmates. And even though she was beautiful, with her honey blonde hair and soft blue eyes, she was on the shy side and didn't demand the attention that most with her looks could. She and Katniss became quiet companions. They'd sit together at lunch and pair up on projects in classes they shared, but their conversations were always brief and rarely personal.

Madge was from the wealthier part of town and as such, could afford to move across the country to Los Angeles to attend UCLA, a detail that Katniss was currently grateful for. Haymitch's company left much to be desired and Cinna was far too busy to spend his free time with her (if he was even allowed to.)

"I saw you on the show," Madge said as she guided her towards her apartment. "You were incredible."

"Thanks," Katniss said shortly.

"It's so wonderful that you're out in LA," she continued. "The weather's always nice, but it gets terribly lonely." She led Katniss to the kitchen and Katniss sat down on one of the bar stools behind the kitchen's breakfast bar. "How's home?"

"Still there," she said.

"Your sister?"

"Brilliant," she replied with a gentle grin.

"The Hawthornes?"

Katniss didn't understand why, but Madge asking about Gale and his family bothered her. "They're getting by," she said, her eyes carefully trained on Madge's reaction.

Madge seemed to catch the ice in Katniss' tone and quickly changed the subject. "So Haymitch Abernathy, huh? That's quite the unlikely pair."

Arching her brow curiously, Katniss watched as Madge made herself busy by setting out plates for dinner. "Do you know him?" She asked.

"Not really," Madge shrugged. "Mostly just knew of him. He dated my aunt when they were kids. Before I was born."

It was hard for Katniss to imagine Haymitch as in love, or young for that matter. He was so harsh and bitter all the time, not at all the type of man to sweep a woman off her feet. "Well she's lucky she got out when she did," she joked.

The color drained from Madge's face and she stood frozen in place for a long moment before returning her attention to the pots scattered across the stove. "She didn't," she said as lightly as her somber tone would allow. "My Aunt Maysilee was killed in that accident. The bus crash that his band was in all those years ago."

"I had no idea," Katniss said, quickly regretting the conversation's turn.

"It's okay," Madge tried to brush off. "Like I said, I never met her. She was my mother's twin though. She never got over it." She placed a bowl of pasta on the counter in front of Katniss and sat down beside her. "Neither of them did he from the looks of it."

"He certainly knows how to punish himself," Katniss agreed.

They're conversation lulled as they settled over dinner. Katniss didn't know Madge's mother had a sister. She knew that her mother had suffered from depression and was in and out of mental institutes, but she had never known the cause. Katniss couldn't even imagine the pain she'd feel if she ever lost Prim. She'd be lost without her. The same way her mother lost her way after her father's death, or how Haymitch apparently gave up on life after losing Maysilee. Love was a dangerous thing to let past your defenses.

"So how are things with the show?" Madge asked, distracting Katniss from her thoughts.

Absently stabbing her spaghetti with her fork, she frowned. "I doubt I'll make it far," she said. "Apparently I'm not one to root for."

"What does that mean?" She said incredulously. "You're the best singer on that show, anyone can hear it."

"That only gets you so far when you're standoffish and uninviting," Katniss countered. "I've made it this far because I have a famous mentor, that's the only reason."

"Don't be silly," Madge argued. "Of course people like you."

"Haymitch thinks I need more high profile friends if I want to win," she said flatly. "Since there's only so much his name can do."

"I'm afraid I'm not going to be much help in that department. I've been living here for nearly a year and the only friends I have to show for it are a few eccentric study group members."

"And an aspiring pop star," Katniss added. She still wasn't sure if she and Madge were friends, but at this point she wouldn't mind it. She'd always considered herself a loner, but she'd always had Prim and to an extent Gale. Now that she was truly on her own, she missed having a confidant. It made her more willing to reach out to people in a way she never would in the past.

"Of course," Madge said, and her thin lips turned into a warm smile. Reaching for the remote, she turned on the television and the soft glow filled the room. "Now, let's see what your adoring public is really saying about you." Flipping through the channels, she landed on one of the entertainment news shows.

Graphics flashed across the screen and beautiful people spoke in quick, chipper voices. "The Mockingjay live shows are upon us and the top ten has been revealed," the host began. "And now Hollywood is picking favorites." The camera cut to a series of celebrities caught in front of restaurants and night clubs.

The first Katniss recognized as action star, Brutus Leonidas. "Mark Cato," he said. "That kid's got it." The boy from New York that sized her up like a piece of meat every time they came in contact didn't have _that_ much talent, but he was certainly intimidating enough.

Cashmere Gluttony, a famous swimsuit model appeared next, her face glowing by the flicker of camera flashes around her. "I love Glimmer," she said. "She's such a beautiful spirit." Katniss rolled her eyes. Certainly Glimmer was beautiful, but she couldn't stay in key to save her life. She seemed to get by with skimpy costumes and provocative dance moves.

Finally a camera walked along side a boy that Katniss found vaguely familiar. "Your good friend Johanna is a judge on the Mockingjay," the cameraman began. "Who are you rooting for this year?"

The boy grinned bashfully and ran a hand through his bronze curls. "I'm a bad friend," he said with a chuckle. "I haven't been following this year." He slipped his hands into his pants pockets and lifted his chin thoughtfully. "That's the show where they pick people by district, right? Which district is Pittsburgh in? I'm rooting for them."

"Oh my God," Madge said abruptly. "Isn't that Peeta Mellark?"

Katniss narrowed her eyes. She knew that name. He had gone to school with them too, but he wasn't a red head. He had sun kissed blond hair, the same color as Prim's, and incredibly blue eyes. The video was too dark and his color was washed out by the harsh lighting of the camera. "I don't think so," she said.

"He's an actor now, isn't he?" Madge countered. "That's him, I just know it."

"District Twelve then," the cameraman said from the television set. "So you're rooting for Haymitch Abernathy's prodigy, front runner Katniss Everdeen?"

Recognition settled over the boy's face and he raised his eyebrows curiously before letting out an uneasy chuckle. "Yeah," he said and his lips turned up in a genuine grin. "I'm rooting for Katniss."

That smile, she had seen it before. It _was_ him.

Peeta Mellark was someone with whom she had never spoken with, and yet she held in one of the highest regards. He had reached out to her during the most difficult time in her life and she had never properly thanked him for it.

They were eleven years old at the time, and it was only a few weeks after her father's passing. Her mother had quickly turned to prescription drugs to dull the pain, leaving her and Prim to fend for themselves. Their clothes hadn't been washed and they hadn't had a proper meal since. Her father's family was mostly gone and her mother's family had shunned her years beforehand for marrying someone beneath them, and so, Katniss was completely alone in picking up the pieces.

Unable to deal with the responsibilities that had been thrust upon her, Katniss began to isolate herself from others at school. She was embarrassed by her situation and too proud to ask anyone for help. She noticed the way others snickered at her for having tangled hair and rips in her stockings, they thought that they were better than her, and because of that she grew contemptuous of them. This attitude didn't benefit her though. The more she pushed others away, the more hungry and sickly she became.

Then one day at lunch, she sat alone at her usual table, when a blond boy with beautiful blue eyes sat down across from her. He carried a tray that was piled with chips and fruit and milk and the largest sandwich she had ever laid eyes on that made her mouth water. She thought he was doing it to be cruel. To mock her for having so much, while she had so little.

He only sat there behind his mountain of food, but never moved to eat it. They sat there in silence for what seemed like eternity before he abruptly stood and walked away, leaving the tray behind. She watched after him, waiting for him to return for it, but he never did. He only stood at the edge of the field that lined the cafeteria with his hands buried deeply into his pockets, while he kicked up a patch of dandelions with his foot.

She wanted to be stubborn or offended by his charity, but the grumble in her stomach refused to listen. She hungrily ate the fruit then drank the milk until her belly was full for the first time in ages and then packed away the sandwich and chips to bring home to Prim. It was then that she heard the first songbird of spring sing its beautiful melody. For the first time since her father's death, she felt hope instead of despair.

She was reminded of warm spring afternoons when her father used to sing on the streets after a long shift in the mines. They would sit themselves at the corner of the Birmingham Bridge and he would play his harmonica and sing as beautiful as a songbird while people dropped money at their feet until they had enough to buy a pizza from DiSalla's. She was struck with an idea and from that day on, she began to venture downtown everyday after school, finding different corners of the city to sing until she had enough money to put food on the table.

She owed that all to Peeta in some odd way, but she never knew how to thank him. To anyone else, the simple gesture of a free meal could be utterly forgettable. To her however, it had saved her life. She didn't know how to thank him without burdening him with the knowledge of how close to the edge her family was to devastation.

And now, here he stood before her, again poised to help her in a way no one else could.

"Did you hear that, Katniss?" Madge asked her with an excitement that in a way reminded her of her sister. "He's rooting for you! You've got to find him!" She reached for her phone and began to scroll through the numbers, while Katniss could only stare at the screen that he had long since vacated. "I have his number from school, but he's probably changed it by now," Madge continued to muse, even though she received no response from her friend. Suddenly her face lit up. "I know. Facebook," she decided and moved to her living room to retrieve her laptop from her backpack. She positioned the computer in front of Katniss and pointed at it expectantly. "Go on, friend him," she directed.

Katniss pressed her lips together and tapped her fingers against the keys without actually pressing them. "He probably doesn't even check it anymore. I bet he has people that handles it now."

"No," Madge refused. "He has a personal page too, you should be able to see it because you have friends in common."

"He'll see right through it," Katniss said and reluctantly typed his name into the search box. "Just friending him out of the blue when I have everything to gain from it."

"Come on, he obviously remembers you," she argued. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Katniss chewed her nails between her teeth as she stared at his profile on the screen. Hovering the mouse over the "Send Friend Request" button, she held in a deep breath and clicked it. Almost instantaneously the request was accepted and not a moment later the message appeared on her wall:

_You're in LA now? Cool._

* * *

Peeta sat behind his kitchen island and scrolled through Katniss' profile for what seemed like the thousandth time. This wasn't at all stalker like behavior, he reminded himself. She was the one that friended him after all.

Her profile was pretty bare with only the occasional wall posting by her sister, which wasn't surprising, given the owner. But from the few pictures she had posted, she hadn't changed at all since high school. She still had the same striking gray eyes that made time stand still.

He had already spent half the night browsing through Mockingjay clips to watch all of her interviews and performances (which again was _not_ stalkerish, since he owed it to Johanna to keep up with her show.) She was still a woman of few words, always short with the camera man interviewing her and even someone as natural as Caesar Flickerman appeared to be pulling teeth when trying to get a conversation out of her. But when she sang there was something so intimate, so vulnerable in her voice that he felt like he could actually see the real Katniss Everdeen.

"Are you even listening to me?" Effie squawked from the other side of the table, her arms flapping like a pigeon to attract his attention. "This is serious Peeta. Everyone knows you're under age. You can't go around patronizing places that cater to minors."

Peeta finally lifted his gaze from his phone screen to acknowledge her and set his jaw. "You're right, Effie," he said, feigning his most dire tone. "It was very irresponsible of them to serve me. The picture on the ID didn't even look like me," he shook his head in disbelief. "I don't think I should go to a place like that anymore."

For the first time, Effie seemed to somewhat sense the sarcasm to his tone. "If you want to engage in such debauchery, at least be discreet!" She continued to chide him. She lowered her voice just above a whisper, even though they were the only two in the room. "Especially with your costar's current condition. The studio can't afford to have _two_ recovering addicts on their payroll, from the same film no less. They're having a hard enough time rectifying _that_ situation." She moved across the kitchen towards him and dropped a large stack of head shots on the counter beside him and immediately her voice turned back to its cheery lilt. "Speaking of which, your next love interest is in this pile."

Peeta pursed his lips and flipped through the pages with disinterest. Sure he could engage in another tantalizing staged love story with a woman who could barely tolerate the sight of him. Or... his eyes drifted back to his cellphone on their own accord to Katniss' profile. There was always the possibility of living out Young Peeta's greatest fantasy. She was in the public eye after all, which made her a candidate in her own right. Finnick had cautioned him about mixing business with pleasure, but there was something liberating about choosing his own fate for once. Especially when it was over something he _actually_ wanted. He couldn't remember the last time he felt passionate about anything. He liked this feeling, of being alive again.

Deciding that this was as good an opportunity as any to broach the subject, he pushed the applications aside. "Speaking of which," he began as casually as possible. "I was thinking maybe I could look into some other venues for the recast." Effie eyed him sternly and began to push the stack back towards him. Peeta saw his window closing and quickly continued more anxiously than he wanted to let on. "The Mockingjay is doing real well in the ratings this year. And it's produced by Panem Pictures to boot!"

"I don't care if Johanna Mason is your friend," she replied, already impatient with his request. "We both know she doesn't test well when paired in a couple. People don't want her to have a soft side, they only want to see her as mordacious. They like her," she seemed to fish for words out of thin air before she concluded with: "moxie."

Peeta was sure to nod enthusiastically to lull Effie into the comfort of being right and skated around the subject with a new approach. "I was thinking that maybe I could date one of the contestants," he suggested.

She broke out into rapturous fits of laughter, quite uncommon for someone as poised as Effie Trinket. "Oh Peeta, how funny," she said, hardly able to regain her composure. "A reality show contestant? Please, don't be ridiculous."

He frowned. He had anticipated Effie to be reluctant at first. "I was just thinking that the grand finale aligned with the opening of the Archie movie," he said carefully, hoping that Effie would latch onto it quickly while it could still be considered "her brilliant idea."

"You're being foolish," she dismissed. "You're in no position in your career to date down at this point."

He sighed heavily and attempted his last plan of attack. Lifting his chin wistfully, he tugged the corner of his lip up to a shy grin and turned his soft blue eyes on her. "Did you know I went to high school with Katniss Everdeen?" This piqued her interest as recognition flickered across her perfectly manicured face. "I kept on seeing her on the news shows last night," he explained. "Apparently she has the backing of some huge rock star. Getting a lot of buzz because of it."

"Young sweethearts reconnecting in the spotlight," Effie spelled out slowly, an excited twinkle starting to gleam behind her eye as the gears began to grind. Her eyes darted to the stack of head shots and then back to Peeta's hopeful face. She was about to crack, he could feel it. "Absolutely not," she said suddenly. She gathered up the pages and thrust them back into his hands. "Pick one," she instructed.

Peeta watched her leave and then moved to the garbage can, where he dropped the entire stack. Eying his phone again, he pressed his lips together thoughtfully. He couldn't just _call_ her. He didn't want to come on too strong, especially since he'd never actually spoken to her in person. No. He would have to do this the standard way. Through her agents.

Dialing his phone with practiced ease, he waited for her snappy greeting. "I can't believe you didn't even watch," Johanna answered incredulously. "Do you know how many awful films I've sat through because you were in them?"

"I'm sorry," he defended. "The Mockingjay is number one on my DVR list from this second forward, I promise."

There was a pause. "What do you want?" She asked expectantly.

"I'm looking for Haymitch Abernathy's phone number," he said, again trying to keep his tone casual. It was important in these types of situations for him to hold his cards close to the vest. He had learned that revealing things that he had actually wanted made them that much harder to attain. Especially in this town where everything came with a price.

"You want him to sing at your birthday party or something?" Johanna questioned.

"Something like that," he played coy. "I had a business proposition."

"I don't know if you've heard, but he's retired now," she said, and the singsong lilt of her voice suggested that she knew something he had hoped she wouldn't. "Works exclusively for some no name kid now, has a real chip on her shoulder, but seems to be drawing a lot of attention." She paused. "Funny, this sudden interest you have in a washed up rocker you've never mentioned before."

"We share a hometown," he reasoned. "That's common interest enough."

"Oh you have a common interest all right." He could hear a rustle on the other end of the line as if she were shaking her head. "Isn't it a bit soon to be jumping back on the bandwagon? Especially with your current girlfriend in such a sensitive condition. I mean you've already been so occupied groping waitresses all up Hollywood and Vine to pay vigil by your love's bedside."

"You should see the stack of replacements," he said flatly. "It reads more like the "after" catalog of a plastic surgery office."

"And you're taking matters into your own hands," she said with an air of delight. "Peeta Mellark's first rebellion against the system? I wouldn't miss it for anything. Especially since it's only the second worst idea you've ever had," she said teasingly. "Right behind that glorified pizza shack of yours."

"It's not a pizza parlor, it's a savory pastry shop," he corrected with an irritated sigh before brushing it off. "So you won't tell anyone?" he asked.

"Not when the consequences are going to be so spectacular," she said. "I'm texting you his number right now. Go get her tiger."

Peeta's phone buzzed a few minutes later with Haymitch's line and he dialed it. It rang for longer than he thought possible for phones to ring and finally a gruff voice answered. "What do you want?" Came the harsh response.

"Hello," Peeta began, undeterred. "Mister Abernathy?"

"What do you want?" He repeated, somehow even more irritated.

"I..." Peeta gaped. "You represent Katniss Everdeen, correct?"

There was a brief silence. "You could say that," he said and his voice was now more curious than hostile.

"My name is P–," he thought better of it and cleared his throat. "I represent Peeta Mellark."

"Is that name supposed to mean anything to me?" He asked, less than impressed.

"Not necessarily," he said, trying not to take it personally. "My client has a high profile role in an upcoming film franchise with Panem Pictures and is interested in creating more buzz around his name. I have a proposition for you and your client that could be mutually beneficial."

"Peeta Mellark, eh?" He considered again. "That's the kid on the cover of all those gossip rags these days, right? Something about a girl."

Peeta did his best to channel his inner Effie and smiled tightly. "There was an unfortunate hiccup in our last arrangement."

"Looks like your boy is coming out smelling like roses," he chuckled. "It's the girl I'd worry about. You guys are good with that spinning thing you do. Twisting everything in your favor."

"And I can assure you that your client's good name will be protected in the media," he said quickly. _So long as she doesn't cross the wrong people,_ he wanted to add.

"Okay, I'll bite," Haymitch said, his voice less hesitant and more amused. "This kid that you _represent_ is about to become a Hollywood leading man, and you're looking to pair him off with some girl already in the latter half of her fifteen minutes? I may be a little rusty when it comes to show business politics, but I'm not seeing the mutual half of these benefits you're talking about."

Peeta chewed on the inside of his cheek. He had a point, which was why Effie had nixed the whole idea in the first place. "I understand that our clients went to school together," he said. "There's been a lot of skepticism in Mister Mellark's recent romances."

"Shocker," he muttered wryly.

"They see him with a new woman and immediately start calling "publicity stunt" and they wouldn't be wrong," he said, nearly gagging on his words. "When people start thinking that, we're not doing our job right. It gives our client a bad name. That's where Miss Everdeen comes in. Sparks ignite all the time, but if they don't have the proper kindling, they fizzle quickly." Leaning his elbow against the counter, he drew his finger across the surface to accent his point. "With Mister Mellark's and Miss Everdeen's history, they have the kindling to sustain that spark of realism."

"So let me get this straight," Haymitch began, drawing out the words slowly. "Your boy and my girl hold hands for the camera. Girls swoon over him for being mister romantic, high school fantasy come true and she becomes desirable for winning the heart of America's newest up and coming leading man."

"The public is always waiting for the next great love story," Peeta agreed.

"Okay, we have a deal," Haymitch agreed. "But word of advice _kid,_ ' he said knowingly. "Ask her out yourself. She doesn't like being told what to do."


	5. Act Naturally/Do It in the Road

Cars whizzed past as Katniss made her way down the sidewalk. She'd been in LA for several weeks now but had yet to master the public transit system, leading her to get off the bus about three stops too early. Bringing her hand to her brow to shield the sun from her eyes, she spotted the restaurant she was looking for just past the crosswalk.

The Rail Car was an antique train car that had been converted into a restaurant and parked on a retired length of track on the North side of Union Station. It had been restored beautifully, with polished brass fixtures, rich velvet upholstery, and grand mahogany tables. A waiter dressed in a clean white shirt rushed by pushing a cart overflowing with a feast served on delicate china and covered with silver lids. Katniss looked down at the jeans and blouse she wore and suddenly felt very under dressed. She ducked into a corner, shielded behind a house plant, to untie her braid and try her best to smooth it into something presentable.

She wasn't even sure what she was doing there, the whole thing was insane. Meeting up with someone she barely knew to ask him to pretend to be her friend was a bit outside of her comfort zone (and a bit on the desperately sad side.) With Haymitch it was simple. She needed the connections and he needed the puppet (so he didn't have to do any _real_ work.) It was a fair trade, they were even. Owing someone was one of her biggest peeves and with Peeta Mellark she felt like she was always digging herself a little deeper into debt every time their paths crossed.

"Katniss?" She flinched. There was no escaping now.

She turned on her heels and smiled as widely as she could. "Peeta," she said, a bit too cheery to sound genuine.

He too was dressed in only jeans and a tee shirt, but by the looks of it, his outfit cost no less than a grand, so he fit right in. He was shorter than she remembered, only an inch or so taller than her, but his shoulders were still just as broad and strong. Probably from hours of working out with some personal trainer at an extravagantly expensive private gym, rather than from manual labor of hulling sacks of flour that he originally gained his bulk from, she mused. His face softened and the light caught the icy flecks of blue in his eyes that inadvertently caused her lips to turn up in a smile.

He seemed to be appraising her as well, because suddenly those eyes narrowed to inspect her more carefully. "Did you walk here?" He asked.

Touching her hand to her cheek, she could feel the heat beneath her fingers and the dried sheet of sweat that coated it. Pittsburgh's springs weren't nearly as warm as Los Angeles', another fact she'd have to get used to lest she always wanted to show up at expensive restaurants with movie stars, looking like a sweaty unkempt fool. "Sorry," she said shyly.

"Don't be," he said quickly, his face creased with concern. "If I had known, I could have given you a ride, or called you a taxi at least," he said, and took a step towards her to touch a gentle hand to her arm in a gesture that seemed strangely intimate, causing Katniss to step away at the last moment.

His face fell and she tried to ease the tension with a laugh, she really was no good at casual conversation... or human interaction in general.

"So, how have you been?" Peeta somehow noted her awkwardness and swept in to take the lead.

"Good," she said with a nod that seemed a little forced.

Peeta arched an eyebrow almost expectantly, but before the lull grew too long he said, "You look great."

"Thanks," was all she could think to reply.

He bit his lower lip between his teeth to suppress a grin, as if reacting to a joke that only he could hear. Suddenly she she couldn't help but suspect that he was laughing at her.

"What?" She demanded and folded her arms across her chest defensively.

"I was just seeing how long you could carry on a conversation with only one word answers," he explained.

Suddenly she found her voice. "I didn't realize I was being held to a word count," she snapped.

"I didn't mean to offend you," he said with a sheepish chuckle and took a step back from her wrath. "I was only teasing you. I thought it was funny." She arched a brow, clearly unamused and he pressed his lips together before he spoke with caution. "Look, I don't blame you. It's not like we're much better than strangers." She stared at him hard, refusing to allow her scowl to soften. "Why don't I cut my loses and we go sit down to eat."

First bright thought he'd had all day, she noted to herself.

Peeta caught the attention of the hostess and she guided them towards their table. Katniss followed them down the narrow corridor through a series of dining cars that were all lavishly decorated.

"Fancy," she spoke the single word over Peeta's shoulder, causing a slow smile to spread across his lips that she couldn't help but return.

They reached their private dining car, which was just as extravagant as the ones that came before. There was a cherry stained wood that lined the walls and a crystal chandelier hanging in the center of the room that cast flecks of light about the cabin. Katniss held her hand beneath one of the beams of light and watched the soft edges of light glow within her palm. Peeta slid a chair out from under the table and motioned for her to sit. She approached him, hesitant, but slipped into the offered seat.

"Don't worry about the prices, you can feel free to get whatever you want," he said as he sat in the chair across from her. "This place has been trying to get me to eat here for months for easy publicity, so the meal will be comped, I'm sure."

This piqued Katniss' interest and she found her eyes darting up from the menu to focus on the boy on the other side of the table. "They just give it to you," she said slowly. "Even though you can afford it?"

"Yeah, it's rather silly, isn't it?" He said, his tone light but his eyes growing increasingly terrified. "I can pay, if you'd prefer. It's no big deal. You can still get whatever you want."

She turned her attention back to the menu just as the waiter appeared. "What's a Victory Tour?" She asked the server.

The waiter paused to size her up, either to inspect her clothes to see if she could afford it or to judge her size to see if she could handle such a feast, she wasn't sure. "It's an eight course meal," he said. "Cheese buns, fruit and cheese platter, pheasant filled with an orange marmalade, the house's lamb stew, just to name a few of the dishes. It's usually reserved for dinner, since it's so _rich,_ " he said pointedly. He didn't think she could afford it, she concluded.

"Sounds perfect," she said with her chin tipped high. It was a two hundred dollar meal. She'd never spent so much money in her life, but there was something about the breezy way that Peeta treated the whole thing and the way the waiter spoke to her, that left her feeling annoyed.

Peeta folded his menu and set it on the table. "Sounds perfect. Mind if we share?"

She caught his eye and was knocked from her petulant display. Suddenly she was eleven years old again, sitting at a lone table in the middle of the cafeteria across from a boy with the most earnest smile and beautiful blue eyes she'd ever seen. "Of course not," she said, but her voice barely broke a whisper.

Silence swept between them and settled long after the waiter left. Katniss busied herself by counting the pieces of silverware at her place setting. Eleven. On top of that she had five glasses. She had more dishes before her for a single meal than she held in her entire kitchen. There was something unsettling about that.

An elaborate candelabra in the center of the table obscured the view of her companion, so he had to arch his neck to meet her eye before he spoke. "Congratulations on the show," he finally said. "You've always been the best singer. I remember they'd give you all the solos at school concerts," he bowed his head and she could see his finger tracing a pattern over the silk tablecloth. "Most beautiful voice I'd ever heard."

"Thank you," she said, taken aback by his earnestness.

"So are you still living in Carrick?" He asked, leaning his elbows against the table in a relaxed manner.

Katniss on the other hand still sat with her back as straight as a board and her hands folded neatly in her lap. "Oh no, couldn't afford it. We live in St Claire's now. Me and my sister."

"Prim?" He said, partly as a statement and partly as a question, like he was verifying a memory.

"Yes," she nodded. There was another lull. "Your hair is different," she said bluntly.

"It is," he agreed. "I'm going to be Archie, from the comics."

"Oh," she said. That didn't mean much to her. "Prim reads them, I think. There was a whole stack of them at the Goodwill once, she read them about ten times. Then she found out she could read them on the internet, so she's always down at the library."

"Hopefully I can live up to her expectations," he nodded.

"I'm sure," she agreed. "Prim loves everything."

The waiter returned with their first course, rolls filled with goat cheese, basil, and apple slices along side a platter of oysters. Katniss inspected the slimy mucus pooled in the rigid shell and grimaced. There was a slurping sound across the table as Peeta ate his, leaving a trail of juice dribbling down his chin.

"It's good," he promised. "Just be careful or you may swallow a pearl."

She shut her eyes tightly and threw back the shell. She didn't like it. They ate the rest of the course in silence.

"Do you think they'll let me bring these home?" She asked after scarfing down her third cheese biscuit.

"I'm sure you could order a whole batch special, if you'd like," he laughed. She noticed the soft sparkle in his blue eyes even from across the long table. It made her smile back.

Three more quiet courses passed, filled only with the sound of clinking silverware and scrapes against delicate china. Katniss grew so full, she thought she may burst, until a plate of lamb stew was set in front of her. A thick gravy with hints of mint and course chopped plums served over a bed of rice. She ate the whole plate in a single breath, it was so delicious.

As she cleaned the remnants of stew from the corners of her mouth, she noticed Peeta watching her. He raised his eyebrows with faint amusement and she bowed her head shyly but could feel the ghost of a grin cross her lips that mirrored his. He finished his stew at a reasonable pace, while she snuck curious glances in his direction. There was something about him that drew her attention but she couldn't pinpoint it.

Finally, when the last course was served and she was nibbling on petite cakes, she spoke. "So how does this work exactly?"

"What, lunch?" He asked. "Because it looks like you've got quite the handle of that part."

She scowled. "I meant this," she gestured between them. "I, uh, need help getting people to like me," she said, her voice softening out of embarrassment. "You've always been well liked," she shrugged. "How do you do it?"

He leaned against the back of his chair and folded his hands over his full belly. "I don't know," he said. "I just act like I'm actually interested in talking with people. You know, by asking them about themselves or answering their questions."

"I answer people's questions all the time," she argued.

"Yes," he agreed. "But you act like it's such an inconvenience." She felt her grip tighten around her dessert fork. "And then you get all hostile trying to defend yourself," he said gesturing towards her belligerent stance. "It's intimidating, I guess, makes you unapproachable."

"It's not like I mean to be that way," she mumbled. Katniss had spent years building up walls that weren't easily broken. She could speak easily with Prim and the Hawthornes, and to her that was all that was needed. "I just don't have much to say. It seems like a waste of time, pleasantries and empty conversations. If you don't _really_ care how someone's day is going, what's the point of asking?"

"It's being friendly," he said. "You don't have to be their best friend or anything, you only have to pretend to like them."

"And that's what you do?" She asked, a frown still creasing his lips.

"Sometimes," he said and reached for his water glass without meeting her eye.

"Like with me right now?" She prodded. There was something that he was hiding from her, she could tell. This air of mystery that Peeta Mellark always held even though he was one of the most outgoing people she had ever known. _Known_. Who was she kidding? She barely knew this boy at all. It was silly to think otherwise.

"I haven't decided yet," he replied and took a long drink from his glass, still purposefully avoiding her gaze.

She felt her frustration boil. Ask him for help, she urged herself but didn't move to speak. "I'm ready to go home now," she said.

"Can I drive you home?"

"Fine," she said, jaw firmly set.

They stepped back out into the LA heat and Peeta slipped a pair of Ray Ban sunglasses over the bridge of his nose, while Katniss trailed several feet behind. They had only made it about half a block when she heard the first shutter click. Her eyes darted across the street where they landed on a stranger crouched behind a vehicle, his face obscured by a camera lense. Another shutter snapped, this time by a couple of men at the cross walk, leaning against a trashcan.

"What's going on?" Katniss asked Peeta carefully, while he continued up the street unaffected.

"What do you mean?" He asked, seemingly oblivious to the cameras that now formed a perimeter around them.

"What are these people doing here?" She asked in a hushed voice. "How did they know we'd be here?"

Peeta slipped his hands into his pocket. "Because I called them," he shrugged.

Katniss stepped in front of him to halt him. "What?" She demanded.

"Wasn't that the point?" He asked, somewhat exasperated.

She pushed him, hard, and he stumbled a few steps back and crashed into an ornate looking vase positioned on the ledge of a stoop that led to a small cafe. The vase shattered as it hit the ground and Peeta grimaced, his hand cut from the impact.

"I thought you knew," he said, keeping an easy grin across his lips, even though the way he held out his bloody hands in a defensive stance said otherwise. "The two of us being together in the public eye. It was arranged with your agent."

"My agent?" She scoffed.

"Haymitch Abernathy," he said, his voice hushed, while he glanced around at the photographers watching them. "I was under the impression he worked for you."

"He does," she said quickly, feeling foolish. "This must have slipped his mind," she rolled her eyes. Typical Haymitch. Always saving the important details for later. She stood awkwardly, trying to figure out how this arrangement was to be played.

Noticing her confusion, Peeta again swept to her aide. "Pretend you were just playing," he instructed, giving her an encouraging nod.

Katniss took a deep breath then hurled herself into his arms, hugging him tightly. "Explain," she murmured against the crook of his neck.

"Inside," he promised.

She pulled away and held his injured hand in hers, inspecting it while she tried to force tears to her eyes. Peeta began to laugh, so she did as well before he led her into the coffee shop.

Once the door was closed behind her, her smile fell to a concerned frown. "It isn't going to need stitches, but it's probably going to bruise," she said evenly. "We should put some ice on it."

"And what makes you such an expert?" He asked with a grimace as he held his cut hand in his good one. "Do you make it a habit of throwing your suitors into various pieces of ceramic?"

"Only after a public ambush," she shot back. She had considered apologizing, but the urge was now fleeting.

They stood in line and Peeta ordered two coffees and a cup of ice even though they were still full from lunch. Katniss refused the drink at first, not needing anymore handouts from him, but eventually accepted and filled her cup with cream and several pumps of chocolate syrup until it looked more like hot chocolate. Peeta drank his black, she noticed. She had tried it that way once and it was chalky and bitter. Then again she rarely drank coffee at all, so she wasn't one to judge the proper way to drink it.

There were a cluster of couches that lined a brick fireplace and they took a seat beside it. Katniss cradled her drink in her hands nervously even though the surface of the mug burned her skin. She felt strangely vulnerable if she didn't have the cup clutched between her fingers to hide behind.

"What did you mean by being together in the public eye?" She asked abruptly.

Peeta was arranging a makeshift hospital of napkin bandages and tiny ice buckets on the small end table that sat between them. "I mean just that," he said, while he scooped some ice from his plastic cup and wrapped the cubes in a brown paper napkin to press against his wound. "We'd be together in front of the cameras and then people would speculate."

"Speculate about what?" She asked.

"That we're dating," he said, slightly amused as if what he was saying was the most obvious thing.

"Why would they care?" She demanded.

"Because they do," he said, laughing still, instead of getting annoyed.

Katniss frowned and lowered her attention to her coffee. She'd never actually been in a relationship before. She'd barely even kissed a boy, only a handful of times at silly parties she had allowed Madge to drag her to. "I'm not comfortable doing those types of things," she said, trying to draw out the words so she didn't have to say them outloud. "The things that boyfriends and girlfriends do. Not with someone I hardly know."

He frowned, but quickly shook his head. "Don't worry," he said. "These types of things are carefully crafted." He lifted the ice from his hand to check on the bruise that was forming then replaced the bundle. "The first couple of weeks we get spotted going places and they take pictures of us walking next to each other. We don't even hold hands because we want the magazines questioning whether or not we're together. Then 'anonymous sources'," he accented with air quotes, "begin to report spotting us getting cozy at restaurants or making out in dark corners of clubs and 'your friends' start to talk to the rags about how you've never been happier and that we're talking about moving in together."

"But none of these things actually happen," she said, her brow creasing as she tried to follow along.

"Unless you want to," he shrugged. "I've got plenty of extra bedrooms if you do."

She rolled her eyes. "And then what?"

"After the buzz has peaked, our reps confirm that we're dating and we start holding hands in public," he said. "Then I appear on your show to 'support the home team' and you come to my movie premieres. You win your singing competition, my movie makes a couple hundred million dollars, and we live happily ever after."

"And that's all?" She asked.

"Well, yeah," he said. "Until people lose interest. Then we break up and you write angry songs about me on your next album, while I lick my wounds by picking up the next Hollywood starlet."

"Sounds romantic," she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

"It is," he agreed.

"And it doesn't bother you?" She asked. "Selling yourself to the media?"

"It's a part of the job," he shrugged. "If you don't have fans to support you, then you'll never survive the game. Sometimes you have to give the people what they want."

Katniss was skeptical, but she trusted Haymitch (against her better judgment) and needed Peeta's charisma to help her through the Mockingjay competition. There wasn't any harm in pretending and Peeta made it sound so easy. It was only a game, she reminded herself.

"Why me?" She asked. "You said 'the next Hollywood starlet' like there's a waiting list. Why waste your time on me?"

"It's not charity, if that's what you're asking." She frowned. It was. She didn't know why she had a hard time accepting his kindness. Even when he was getting something out of it, she felt like she owed him. "If my reps had it their way I'd be in Cancun right now with a half naked swimsuit model. But I'm sick of playing their tired game. I want to stick to something I believe in for once, and I think you're talented and you deserve the opportunities that some people in this town are too blind to give you. It's easy to get lost here, Katniss. I don't want to be one of them."

Katniss caught the earnestness in his eyes, a cry for help that she could tend to. Finally, she found the opportunity she needed to pay back her debt to him. "Fine," she said, even though she was still hesitant. "I'll do it."

They finished their coffee in silence and before they left, Peeta paid for the vase he had broken outside. The cameras were still waiting for them, although a few had left, probably to chase the next bit of celebrity gossip. Peeta held the door open for her and she was sure to make a show of it by plucking his sunglasses from his face and slipping them over her eyes as she passed by him. He shook his head and laughed, following after her at the proper distance, while cameras clicked around them.

Once he helped her into some expensive little black car, he only nodded and said, "Good job."

The drive back to the hotel was again silent. Katniss wondered if this was what the next few weeks of her life would be like. Brief banter in the public eye followed by uncomfortable silence when no one was watching. Peeta flipped on the radio and a Top 40 song she didn't recognize filled the cabin.

"You shouldn't sing this song," he suggested, his nose crinkled with distaste as he reached to change the station.

"No," she agreed.

When Peeta finally pulled up to the hotel lobby, he promised to call and Katniss only nodded in return. Entering the elevator, her finger skimmed past the button to her floor and instead illuminated the one for Haymitch's. She shuffled through her collection of room keys and selected the one that she knew to unlock Haymitch's room. She gave him a courtesy knock, counted to five, and then swiped the key.

Haymitch was in his normal position on the floor in front of the minibar, although today he had managed to remain propped up in a sitting position against the edge of his unused bed. A classic black and white film flickered on the television, providing the soul source of light for the room. The "Do Not Disturb" sign had been in use for so many days that the maid had noticed the stench coming from the unkempt room and had to get the hotel owner's approval to override the sign's request. It was only a slight improvement to what it had been. Haymitch was quite impressive when it came to soiling spaces.

"I just got back from the most lovely date," Katniss said, kicking the sole of his boot to get his attention.

"I thought I got my room key changed," he grumbled as he rubbed his drunken eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me that you sold me to Peeta Mellark," she demanded.

"Sold?" He scoffed. "You have quite the active imagination there."

"You don't understand," she said. "Before I had some level of anonymity. I appeared on the show, but then after, I went back to my hotel and no one knew I existed anymore until the next time the show aired." She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the door jam to the bathroom. "But now I'm going to be that girl on Peeta Mellark's arm. I'll constantly have some pesky photographer on my ass and that's not something I signed up for."

"Not something you signed up for?" He snickered at her. "Honey, for all the people that are bending over backwards to make you a success, you sure are ungrateful." He shook his head. "Make me a success," he began, his voice mocking, "get me a record deal, teach me all your sage advice, but never make me lift a damn finger. You do realize that you're getting a hell of a lot more out of this act than that boy is."

"I don't see the point of the whole thing," she said. "If viewers hate me during the few minutes I spend on screen already, how is amplifying my exposure going to help?"

"People don't know how to like you," he argued. "You make it really difficult sometimes. What we need is a way to make you desirable."

"And how is Peeta going to do that?"

"It's called a publicity stunt, sweetheart," Haymitch said. He fished for one of the half empty bottles that littered the floor and took a swig. "Haven't you ever heard of it? People watch someone fall in love with you and then they love you too." He wiped the back of his sleeve across his mouth. "And a charmer like that Mellark kid?" He winked at her, making her skin crawl. "They're going to love you."


	6. I've Got a Feeling/Something

A magazine dropped on the glass table in front of him, a page of interest dogeared for him to locate with ease. Peeta reached for it and settled back into the plush leather couch that sat in Effie's office. The marked page was for "Celebrity Sightings" and tucked in the corner of the spread were two photos of him and Katniss outside of the cafe. The first was from after she had pushed him. He held his hands out to protect himself from her wrath, but they were both smiling, like they were teasing one another. The other was of her slipping past him, the length of their bodies nearly touching as she stole his sunglasses. The caption read: _Spring isn't the only thing heating up between actor Peeta Mellark and Mockingjay contestant Katniss Everdeen._

"Care to explain this?" Effie said pointedly. She stood in front of the coffee table with one of her raspberry colored pumps popped and her hands placed on her hips. Peeta didn't even know they _made_ lime green business suits, but Effie had managed to find one.

He suppressed a grin while he pretended to inspect the pictures. "Oh, right," he said. "I was in the mood for coffee and ran into Katniss."

"In Chinatown?" She asked, her voice incredulous and when she tilted her face to properly stare at him in disbelief, her tight platinum blonde curls bounced atop her head. "And the agency that I usually call for your appearances just happened to be positioned outside?"

Peeta swallowed thickly. "Small world, I guess."

"I gave you specific instructions, Peeta," Effie said and swiped the magazine from his hands, causing the pages to crinkle. She waved it around nearly striking his face with it as if she were scolding a puppy. "I couldn't have made it any easier for you and you still managed to screw it up!"

Recoiling from the flying paper, he sank into the dark leather until the cushion nearly swallowed him. He needed to channel in on Effie's weakness in order to gain her sympathies. He eyed the signed photograph of Nora Ephron (not a personal signature, rather a head shot she purchased off ebay) and knew what he had to do. "I have something to confess," he said. Peeta grasped his hands together and leaned his elbows on his knees. Bowing his head so that his rusted curls dripped into his line of sight, he licked his lips. Once he reached the end of a pause that seemed dramatic enough he said it: "I think I'm in love."

Effie gasped and covered her bright pink lips with her fingers. Bingo. "With Katniss?" She asked breathlessly. "Since when?"

Peeta eyed the dark bruise on the side of his hand and smirked. _Since she assaulted me on a street corner with a potted plant_ didn't have the romantic connotations he was looking for. "Since we were kids, I suppose," he said instead. It was true, in a way. He had felt _something_ for her when they were kids, something that expanded into an infatuation through adolescence and at present had evolved into something curious that couldn't quite be classified.

Crumpling the magazine between her fists, Effie held it against her heart. "Oh Peeta! Why didn't you say something?"

"You were so excited about the Panem approved candidates that I didn't want to disappoint you," he said, certain to lay it on real thick. He lifted his chin and channeled his most earnest grin. "Besides, I didn't even know if she liked me back."

In a swift motion, Effie was seated beside him on the couch with her arm across his shoulder. "Well does she?" She asked, her voice on edge with excitement.

That was a question to ponder, Peeta mused. She was hostile and seemed overtly irritated by his presence, but at the same time he did catch her smiling at him a few times and there was a warmth behind her eyes when she did it. It was as if every part of her being was trying to dislike him, but that urge couldn't quell the slight flicker of possibility that lingered between them.

"She does," he said. He frowned and let out a sigh to properly display the tragic nature of his situation. "And we were going to do something foolish, by trying to sneak around behind your back because you didn't approve. But obviously I'm no good at this sort of thing, not like you, and now I've made a huge mess of things."

Effie nodded in agreement, but continued to hold a comforting hand over his back. "If you'd only told me sooner, Peeta, I could have stopped it before word got out." She smoothed out the magazine in her lap over her lime green skirt. "It isn't all bad though. You were in three magazines, two entertainment news shows, and you even trended on Twitter for almost an hour yesterday." She looked down at the images on the page and tried not to grimace. "I can work with this," she said, her voice tight, unable to hide the edge of disappointment.

"Really?" He said with a broad smile. "You mean it?"

"Oh Peeta, I couldn't stand in the way of love," she said. "Even if she doesn't wear makeup. Or brush her hair. And looks to shop off the clearance rack at the Goodwill."

"Effie," he warned.

"She's lovely," she said, although her smile was as fake as the one he wore earlier. "I'll arrange a formal encounter, although I doubt she has representation, perhaps the network would handle such matters."

"Haymitch Abernathy is managing her career," said Peeta.

He hadn't thought it possible for Effie's crestfallen expression to fall any further, but somehow after he made that statement, she managed. "The drunk singer? Wonderful."

* * *

Katniss removed her earpiece and accepted the bottle of water from the production assistant waiting offstage. There was a commotion of bodies flying by as they transitioned the set for the next performance and she found herself caught up in the flurry, dodging out of the way when a amplifier nearly rolled over her toes. Before she could completely catch her balance, she was knocked forward with a sharp push.

"Sorry," said Clove, although her tone said otherwise. She was a contestant from Newark, region two, and about as sweet as a root canal. One of the younger contestants, she didn't allow her short stature to prevent her from being intimidating. Hell, Katniss had a good five inches on her and felt uneasy on the opposite end of her wicked gaze.

Katniss tried to brush past her and towards the dressing area, but Clove darted into her path. "What's the matter? Loverboy couldn't buy you a record contract too?" She said, standing on her toes so that they were eye to eye.

The photos of her and Peeta outside the coffee shop were all anyone could talk about through dress rehearsal. Stagehands spent the better part of the morning fluttering about her asking inane questions about him, like what he ate for lunch and what color his eyes _really_ were. Producers were ecstatic at the prospect of more free publicity and had even granted her the coveted closing slot as a reward. And her competitors were naturally (and rightfully) livid at her being the continued focus of favoritism.

"You can't buy people's votes forever," Clove tipped her chin until her face was uncomfortably close, but Katniss refused to lose her ground. "They're going to see right through your pathetic little lies just like the rest of us."

Katniss clenched her jaw and made a final attempt to pass her petite rival, this time squaring her shoulders so that Clove was knocked to the side when Katniss crashed against her. "Sorry," Katniss, mimicking her earlier tone.

She couldn't blame Clove for being hostile. She _did_ have a valid point. Katniss was doing anything she could to keep her head above water in this competition and this came as a detriment to the other contestants. But it was a game after all, and although Katniss' strategy didn't rely on her skills, she was using any tools at her disposal to survive.

After she'd changed back into her street clothes, Katniss checked her phone to find she'd missed a call from her sister. If that weren't enough, there was also an accompanying text message waiting for her, instructing her in all capital letters to "CALL ME IMMEDIATELY!" Without the excessive exclamation points, Katniss may have worried that there was some sort of emergency at home. But Prim was a fifteen year old girl and her spinster sister had just been spotted around town with a movie star, few things ranked higher in importance at that age.

Katniss dialed Prim's number and held the phone to her ear. It only took two rings before she was met with incomprehensible shrieks.

"You wanted me to call?" She asked, playfully ignoring her sister's excitement.

"Katniss, why didn't you tell me you had a boyfriend?" Prim said.

"Because I don't," she said.

"I saw the pictures in US Weekly," Prim said, cutting to the point with little patience. "I know what that sort of thing means. Asking someone for the time in public is equivalent to asking for their hand in marriage, to a celebrity because they know it will be printed somewhere." Katniss bit her lip to muffle the laugh at the gravity her sister used for her words. "And of course I had to be in Mister Mellark's bakery waiting to pick up Posy's birthday cake when I saw them. It was awkward to say the least."

"Did he say anything?"

"He said that he saw you on the Mockingjay and that he was voting for you," she said. "He even put a little poster in the window."

Katniss sat down in her makeup chair and propped her feet on the table beneath the mirror to lace up her Doc Martin boots. She wasn't surprised. Mister Mellark had always been kind to her and Prim (something about a past with her mother that she never cared to learn) and would bring her leftover baked goods when she used to busk outside of his shop.

"Then he mentioned that Peeta was out there too, and suggested that you two meet up. It didn't seem like they talked much though," Prim continued. "I was going to point out the magazine, but then Misses Mellark showed up." There was no need to elaborate. When Misses Mellark entered a room, people bowed their heads and quickly excused themselves before they got tangled up within one of her tirades. The woman had a fuse shorter than the wick of a birthday candle, that's how pleasant conversation with her was. "So tell me everything!" She said, quickly shifting gears.

Lowering her voice, she glanced around the busy backstage area to ensure that nobody was within earshot. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Good God Katniss, are you pregnant?" Prim gasped.

Katniss was concerned that this was her baby sister's first reaction to the statement. "No! Of course not," she said. "This _thing_ with Peeta is a hoax. It's a publicity stunt."

"You're pretending to be friends with Peeta?" Said Prim, as if the absurdity required her to slowly spell out all the facts. "Why?"

"It's for advertising," Katniss said, but the hint of disapproval in Prim's voice was difficult to ignore. "Only until I win and Peeta's movie comes out. Every vote counts."

"That sounds ridiculous. Peeta's nice enough. What's the point of faking a relationship when you could actually be friends?" She paused long enough for the guilt to set in. "Lying like this. Making a spectacle of yourself. That isn't like you, Katniss."

"Prim, you read those magazines," she said. "You know what they're looking for. As long as you know the truth, that's all that matters to me."

"What about Gale?" Prim questioned.

 _Gale._ It wasn't as if she were betraying him, but she still valued his opinion of her. He hated phonies and Katniss was becoming the epitome of the definition. But she and Gale weren't together (even though that was what everybody assumed) and she didn't owe him an explanation.

"Does he know?" She asked.

"Do you think Gale is leafing through copies of People magazine?" Prim practically cackled at the thought. "He watches the show though, and you know they're going to ask you about it."

Katniss was distracted when she noticed Haymitch had entered the dressing room, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded across his chest expectantly.

"Look, I've got to go," she said when he began to tap at his watch barren wrist impatiently. "If he sees something, let him know the truth. Knowing Gale though, he'll see right through it without the explanation."

"Fine," she said. "But I still don't approve," she added quickly before Katniss cut the line.

Tucking her phone into the pocket of her jeans, she tried to shake off her sister's disappointment before she turned to Haymitch. It was all for her, she reminded herself.

"What do you want?" She asked, her voice biting and on edge.

"Excuse me," he said and held his hands up innocently. "I was just delivering the news that I got you a date." He took a few steps closer and framed his mouth with a cupped hand to speak with discretion. "Survey says he's a real looker."

Katniss sighed heavily and chipped away the coat of polish on her nails with her teeth. "When?"

"Twenty minutes," he said. "Some private gym just outside the studio lot. Peeta has a deal with Nike, so if you have any cute little shorts with a check mark on them, I suggest you wear them."

"Wait," she said, and dropped her feet from the table to sit up straight in her chair. "Now? I've got a show tonight."

"And time is no man's friend," Haymitch said. "It's been three days since you were last spotted together. We have to keep this relevant, remember?"

"Fine," she rolled her eyes and plucked a tissue from the box on the table to begin removing the thick layer of makeup from her face.

"Keep the makeup on," he said. "That was a specific request from his agent."

"Request?" She asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Even the abridged version of her demands is ten pages long. Requests seem to be the only thing this woman isn't lacking."

The show filmed at five and aired live on the East Coast. It was only eleven and she wouldn't have to be back at the studio until three for hair and makeup, plenty of time to throw in an impromptu public workout session. Katniss slipped off her boots and collected some suitable workout clothing and a brand new pair of running sneakers from wardrobe. "God bless sponsors," she muttered under her breath as she pulled the tags off her sports bra. Feeling a bit brazen, she swiped a slick pair of Oakley's she'd been eying and pushed them over the bridge of her nose before she made her way out of the studio.

Peeta was waiting at the Panem Studio gate signing autographs for a few fans that waited outside. He spoke with such ease, his hands moving animatedly and his grin genuine, that she felt guilty for interrupting. She envied him. The way he could relate so easily with these strangers and speak with them as if they were old friends.

He noticed her watching him and waved her over excitedly. "Katniss, come here," he called.

She approached carefully, tucking a few stray hairs that had escaped her freshly braided hair behind her ears.

"Will you set the record straight and let these two lovely ladies know that we are in fact friends," he said, gesturing his hand out to present them. "They've been waiting outside the studio all day hoping to meet you and didn't believe me when I told them that I knew you."

Katniss forced a grin and focused on her two awaiting fans. One was a woman, probably mid thirties, with her was a little girl with a strawberry colored mark that masked her eye and crooked little teeth. "Of course," she said. "Peeta and I are old friends."

"Bonnie here," Peeta said and motioned towards the little girl, "wants to be on the Mockingjay just like you." He paused, as if waiting for her to pick up the conversation, but Katniss was like a deer in headlights when it came to these types of casual interactions. "I told her we should be asking her for _her_ autograph. Probably be the wiser investment."

Katniss could only laugh and nod her head.

"Any advice for my student," _Miss Twill_ (Peeta mouthed the name to her) said.

Dreaming big and putting yourself on the line was silly. There was no such thing as luck. She wouldn't be where she was without a few well placed celebrities with connections to get her foot in the door. She struggled to find a suitable answer for an eight year old that wouldn't dash _all_ of her dreams. "It's a lot of hard work," she admitted. "But if you love something enough," she said, her mind drifting to Prim. "You'll do whatever it takes to make it happen."

Bonnie held out pad of white paper and a sharpie and Katniss signed it absently, unable to fathom what someone would want with a piece of paper that only had her name on it. When Bonnie and Miss Twill left, Peeta turned to her and laughed.

"Whatever it takes?" He said through chuckles. "Jesus Katniss, why didn't you just go into a detailed description of sexual acts to perform on studio execs to get ahead."

She narrowed her eyes. "I did not say that!"

"You may as well have," he said before he began walking towards their destination with his chest puffed out and his hands shoved into the pockets of his gym shorts.

"And what kind of answer was I supposed to give?" She said and followed after him a few paces behind.

"Stay true to yourself and never give up," he said. "That's my company line."

"Easy for you to say," she nearly spat. "How many fake girlfriends have you had now to get ahead?"

"Touche," Peeta said, but his amused grin never faltered.

As they rounded the block past the studio, Katniss began to hear the familiar click of camera shutters. "Oh look, our guests have arrived," she mumbled under her breath.

Peeta held the door open for her to the Training Center Gym, a converted warehouse with an assortment of expensive looking workout equipment that was organized into stations. Katniss understood why _this_ location had been selected for their latest public appearance when she spotted the large floor to ceiling windows that lined the street. A perfect location for all the men hidden behind their camera lenses to capture anyone with any level of notoriety at their sweaty best.

"Where do you reckon we start?" Peeta asked.

She spotted a row of treadmills, which were in perfect range of the prying eyes that awaited them on the other side of the glass wall. "Suppose we go for a jog?"

His eyes flickered towards the window and he nodded in recognition. "Right you are," he said.

They selected a pair of neighboring treadmills, and while Peeta seemed to sort through an array of menus requesting all sorts of medical history to optimize his workout, Katniss simply set the speed to ten miles an hour and took off on the woven belt. She took pride in herself, for finally finding a skill that she could outperform Peeta Mellark in, and took the opportunity to gloat.

"You going to be able to keep up?" She asked, noting that his speed was only set at four and a half miles per hour. A brisk walk at best.

"Six minute mile?" He said before his machine determined him as suitably "warmed up," and increased his speed to six. "I couldn't even if I tried."

"How are you going to chase a girl if you can't even catch her?" Said Katniss, keeping up with the belt with long easy strides.

"I tore my meniscus back in high school," he said. "I'd have to find a different way to impress her, like lift her over my head or something."

Still riding her competitive streak, Katniss pursed her lips thoughtfully. "How much do you bench?"

"Two sixty," he said and shrugged his shoulders. "Why?"

She pulled the stop cord on her treadmill and the belt rolled to a halt. "I'm warmed up, let's do that."

"Lift weights?" He said, while stopping his own machine. "Oh no, no, no, I can't let you show me up on my one specialty. I have to maintain some level of pride."

"I want to see how much I can lift," she said and moved towards the weight section before he could stop her.

She'd never been to a _real_ gym before, only the one in their high school that had a single treadmill, a knockoff Bowflex type piece, and a rack of free weights. She never used the gym much, since she preferred running outside, but she did play with the free weights a few times when she was bored. Only the dumbbells though, never the barbell.

Katniss stretched out on the bench beneath the bar and waited expectantly. "Load her up," she said.

He laughed. "Start with this. The bar alone is forty five pounds." She lifted it with ease and did a few reps to demonstrate her point.

"Two sixty you said?" She asked. "I want to try that."

He shook his head, yet still went to the rack to gather the weights one by one until the bar was evenly loaded with black disks.

"Have at it," he said, positioning himself behind the bench to spot her.

She gripped the bar and pushed with all of her might but it didn't budge. "Fine. Too much," she admitted. She sat up brushed her braid over her shoulder. "I'm no good at it. It'd be like asking me to shoot an arrow or something," she said carefully, her eyes darting about the room in search of an archery range.

Peeta quickly called her bluff. "Yeah right," he said, replacing all the weights. "I went to high school with you. I was there that time you split an arrow twice in a row." She could have done a few more if the wind hadn't picked up and Julie Dwyer hadn't thrown a fit over being out shown. " _That_ would be like me challenging you to a wrestling match, which could be considered conduct unbecoming, since you're an honest girl and this is technically only our second date."

Katniss considered the offer, but Peeta probably had thirty pounds on her, and his broad shoulders would be too difficult to maneuver out of. She never went to any of the wrestling matches, but she recalled the year he ranked second (only after his brother) in the state. She may have been competitive, but she was no fool.

"You call this a date?" She asked. She meant to say it as a challenge, but when the words left her lips, even _she_ noticed how flirtatious they sounded.

"I've had better," he agreed. "My agent set it up. I think gym dates are silly, but it seems to always be her go to move." He took a rag from the weight rack and wiped down the bar and bench she had been laying on. "Something about spandex and sweat. It's supposed to be sexy, I guess."

Katniss looked down at the large white tee shirt and mesh shorts she had selected for workout apparel, while every other female patron wore form fitting tanks and sleek leggings. "Must have missed the memo."

Peeta arched an eyebrow and smirked, his eyes briefly appraising her before he looked away. The action was subtle, but it was enough to shoot a jolt of warmth that spread from her chest to her flushed cheeks. She didn't understand the effect his smile had on her, but the feeling was a welcomed one.

"Well let's get you back in your element then," he said. "What are you doing tonight?"

"I've got the show until seven," she said.

"There's this club that does Mockingjay night. Actually it's usually just karaoke night, but during the season they do a hybrid, alternating between the show performances and amateur night. You should bring some of your friends from the show down, show the tone deaf how it's done." He paused and considered his proposal. "It'd be a great photo opt," he added.

"Yeah?" She said. Katniss imagined her and Clove singing a duet to "That's What Friends Are For" with their arms hooked. Perhaps they'd even wear matching outfits. "I don't really have _friends_ in the competition," she explained.

"That makes sense," he said and hooked his hands behind his back as he strolled around the bar bell to stand before her. "We do want _you_ to win after all," he said, accenting _you_ by bowing forward so that their noses nearly touched, causing a breath to catch in Katniss' chest.

Her throat went dry and she could only smile, the warmth returning to her cheeks. It frightened her.

* * *

Peeta downed the rest of his beer and dropped the clear plastic cup on the table.

"I still don't get it," Finnick said thoughtfully, resting his chin in his hand as he looked curiously at the large screen overhead. "If this is live, then how are you both sitting her and on the screen at the same time?"

"It's previously recorded for the West Coast feed, brainless," Johanna said, even though she knew Finnick was only teasing. He made the same observation _every_ time they gathered for such events.

Peeta stretched his neck to get better vantage of the front door. His eyes trying to focus across the dim room every time it swung open and close.

"What's with him?" Finnick placed his elbows on the sticky tabletop to lean closer to Johanna and Peeta could feel both sets of eyes on him even though his attention was elsewhere.

"He's waiting for his 'girlfriend,'" Johanna said with exaggerated air quotes. "I still can't believe the studio let you slip that one under the radar. Must have found a shinier franchise to invest all their money in."

"Like Scream?" Peeta said with a smirk, reaching across the table for the pitcher to refill his cup. Johanna had been cast in a supporting role for the latest horror sequel, and starlets in long running horror franchises were bottom of the barrel as far as roles went, prime for mock-ability.

"Hey, watch it," she said with a warning finger pointed in his direction. "I'll cut you, just like I did Neve Campbell," she grinned wickedly. "Spoiler alert!" She swiped away the pitcher and filled her own cup. "I bet the studio is too busy salivating over the next Nick Sparks' movie they've roped Finn into."

"Oh yeah?" Peeta said, recognizing that the target had shifted. "Who dies of cancer in this one?"

Finnick shrugged. "Who knows," he said. "The dog maybe. I didn't bother reading the script, they're all the same. All I know is that some time during the second act I say something encouraging. Shirtless. In the rain." He chuckled. "I swear, I'm the highest paid porn star in Hollywood."

"God love him for that," Johanna said, running her fingers down his chest with one hand, while she pretended to fan herself with the other.

The door swung open again, catching Peeta's attention and he spotted Katniss with a blonde whom he recognized as Madge Undersee. He lifted his hand to get their attention and both Johanna and Finnick checked over their shoulder to follow his gaze.

"Guess this is my cue," Johanna rolled her eyes and pushed back from the table.

"Where are you going?" Asked Peeta.

"Don't play innocent," she said. "Like you didn't pick a conflict of interest on purpose," she said, but her tone was teasing. "You know I can't be fraternizing with contestants behind the scenes, it hurts the others' feelings." She threw a couple of bills on the table, but paused to tap her chin thoughtfully. "On second thought," she said, pocketing the money. "Since you owe me and all. Drinks are on you," she grinned sweetly and gave them a small wave of only her fingers before she turned towards the door. Peeta watched her brush past Katniss on her way out, whispering something and pointing towards their table before she was gone.

Peeta stood to give Madge a hug, while Katniss stood behind the table with her arms folded protectively over her chest. He nodded at the empty chairs and they took a seat. "What did Johanna say?" He asked Katniss, trying to draw her from her shell.

"Something about letting you get your hands on a microphone and killing your career," she said, her scowl unable to hide the smile that was creeping through. She was having a harder time hiding that grin of hers. He liked it.

"If I got my hands on a microphone, my career is the last think I'd be worried about," he said. "All those poor tortured ears? The therapy bills to cover all the people in this room would be astronomical." Her grin widened.

Peeta pointed around the table for introductions and Madge became completely starstruck in the presence of movie star, Finnick Odair. Katniss however, was less than impressed with the heartthrob's charms (much to Peeta's satisfaction.)

"So what are you drinking?" Finnick asked Katniss, leaning his elbows across the table and looking at her beneath hooded eyes. His lips hovering only a breath apart from hers. Typical Finnick, Peeta rolled his eyes. "Let me guess, something fruity with a sugar rimmed glass."

Katniss lifted her chin, never one to step away from a challenge, and reached for his beer, drawing it to her lips without ever breaking eye contact. "Usually it's something stronger than water," she said, after taking a long swig and setting the cup down on the table.

Finnick chuckled and nodded approvingly in Peeta's direction. "And what would that be?" He asked.

"Whiskey," she said with a shrug.

"I like her," Finnick said and lifted a hand to catch a waitress so they could order a round of shots.

It was on their third round that Katniss' Mockingjay segment aired. Her hair was in soft loose curls and her lips stained the color of raspberries. She strut across the stage and smoothed her pale yellow dress over her knees when she sat on a stool waiting for her in the center. She sang Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide," her voice haunting, causing everyone in the club to fall silent as her song filled it.

After the song finished, Caesar Flickerman approached her and draped his arm around her shoulder as if she were an old friend.

"And here I thought you'd sing a love song," he teased, causing Katniss to blush. His face turned serious and he began to speak with her with fake concern. "We're friends, right Katniss?"

"Sure," she said with a shy nod.

"So if you were to say – find a special somebody – you'd tell me. Right?"

Katniss lifted a single shoulder and grinned mischievously. "I'm not sure what you're implying, Caesar."

Caesar shook his head and waved his finger at her knowingly. "You tell your friend Peeta that I said hello."

Back at the bar, Katniss ducked her head as other tables seemed to recognize her presence. Finnick took notice of her discomfort and stood from his chair. "Who wants an encore?" He shouted. The room filled with encouraging cheers and Katniss reluctantly stood, aided by the buzz from the alcohol, to climb onto the stage. She reached for Madge's hand and dragged her up beside her, before turning to the band leader to make her request.

The band began to play and she stepped up to the microphone.

" _Close your eyes, give me your hand darling. Do you feel my heart beating? Do you understand?_ " She began to sing.

Most of her stage makeup had been washed away and her hair was pulled back into a simple braid, but somehow she was more beautiful now than she had been when made up for television. Peeta felt his lips tug into a half grin as he watched her with wonder. Time seemed to stand still and every other soul in the room disappeared.

"That's your butterfly, isn't it?" Finnick said, breaking him from his trance. Peeta looked at him and studied his friend's suddenly sober face before he dropped his chin to his chest.

" _A whole life so lonely and then you come and ease the pain. I don't want to lose this feeling_."

"No," he said with an uneasy chuckle. "That was this girl, Delly Cartwright," he said as convincingly as he could, which unfortunately wasn't very.

"Right," Finnick nodded, more as a comfort than an agreement.

" _Is this burning an eternal flame?"_

Peeta pursed his lips before turning his attention back to the stage. His breathing shallow as he tried to quell the flutter of wings that invaded his gut. And just like that, he knew he was a goner.


	7. Golden Slumber/Flying

In her entire life, Katniss had been on an airplane a total of one time. Traveling, was simply something that she did not regularly do, and the number of times she stayed in a hotel, she could count on her hands. So, when Effie Trinket booked a weekend getaway to Cabo San Lucas, she was dreadfully unprepared.

"What do you _mean_ you don't have a Passport?" Effie had shrieked. The shoulder pads of her Creamsicle colored blazer made her look like a triangle, and when she poised her hands on her hips, the unfortunate resemblance only worsened. "How do you get _anywhere?"_

Peeta stood beside the eccentric blonde woman, his hands folded behind his back as his face struck an expression of mock dismay. It didn't take long for Effie to take notice, and she gave him a scolding glare, causing him to duck his head to suppress his laughter. Katniss however, wasn't used to Effie's histrionics, and felt mortified rather than amused at the display.

As Effie stormed out of the room muttering something about getting all the necessary applications notarized on such short notice, Katniss could only bow her head and scuff her sneaker against the hardwood floor, hoping to kick up a loose floorboard to hide beneath.

"She means well," Peeta assured her, but she could barely even force a smile in return. "She just doesn't get it, you know _normal_ people. See, Effie wouldn't be caught dead buying her milk anywhere else but Switzerland."

She rolled her eyes at him, but couldn't fight the corner of her mouth that lifted in response. It was a silly thing to get upset over, she decided.

Katniss wasn't sure _how_ Effie obtained a passport in under forty eight hours, for all she knew, she had one of the studio's prop artists doctor one up. There were some questions in life she didn't want to know the answers to, and if it meant her spending a weekend in paradise, she was willing to turn a blind eye to the matter.

Mexico wasn't at all what she had expected, not that she expected much from it. The resort was like a desert oasis that almost appeared to be surrounded by water, the way the peninsula jutted into the Gulf. It consisted of square stucco cabanas that stretched along the edge of a rocky beach and curled around to form a private courtyard of sparkling swimming pools and little cafes.

"Suppose we'll settle in, then get some dinner," Peeta suggested as they stepped into their suite.

There was a large sitting area with smooth concrete floors and dark wicker furniture accented with plush cushions. The living room seamlessly transitioned to a stone patio that overlooked the courtyard, and with no glass barrier, Katniss was immediately struck by the cool, salty breeze.

She nodded towards the dark cherry door to their left to stake claim on a bedroom and rolled her suitcase towards it, Peeta departing at the same time towards the door on the right. The bed was somehow larger than the one in Los Angeles, and would fill her room in Pittsburgh from wall to wall with little room to spare. Lifting her suitcase onto the clean white comforter, she unzipped it to take inventory on its contents.

Effie had deemed her as so incompetent after the Passport debacle that when a brand new suitcase was delivered to her hotel room that morning, it had come fully packed. The garments were all lovely though, and not at all Effie's style. The colors suited for her skin tone, the cuts flattering to her shape and not too revealing. It was when she emptied the last piece and found an ivory note card tucked in the side pocket that she understood why.

" _Make me look good by looking good. -Cinna"_

Katniss slid the note card back into its envelope with a grin and carefully repacked her bag, leaving out a dark purple maxi dress that she slipped over her head and tied securely around her neck. When she stepped back into the common room, Peeta was letting out a frustrated sigh as he dropped the hotel telephone back into its cradle.

"Is everything okay?" She asked.

"Yeah," he said and combed his hands through his rusted locks. "Mind if I bum some pillows off you?"

Katniss noticed that his suitcase was propped open on the coffee table. "They didn't come on your bed?" She asked and nodded towards the door to the room he was supposed to be occupying, which was still sealed shut. "I must have fifty on mine."

"Turns out this is a single," he explained. "And it looks like they're booked solid this weekend, so I'll be crashing on the couch, I guess."

She felt a curiosity flare within her as she glanced at the bed behind her and then back to him. There was more than enough room for two to share, in fact a small village could probably fit comfortably, but thoughts of laying beside him beneath a canopy of blankets made her feel strangely anxious. Her throat went dry and she wondered why the thought of Peeta Mellark in her bed made her cheeks flush so furiously.

"Of course not," she said. "Take as many as you need."

He brushed passed her to retrieve a blanket and pillow from the closet and paused when they were standing side by side in the door frame. His eyes traveled down her body and he smirked before he said, "You look nice."

She felt that tingle swell in her belly again and her gaze lingered on him longer than it normally would as he moved around the room. It wasn't until he cleared his throat that she was brought back to attention, only fueling the sudden heat that blazed her olive complexion.

"Ready?" He asked, with a grin that suggested he was quite pleased with himself.

The resort's main restaurant was a buffet called the President's Palace and was inspired by a forum from Ancient Rome. Katniss skimmed her fingers along the stone columns that ran from the floor to the high arched ceilings, painted white and blue to resemble clouds in the sky and accented with twinkling star like lights. Tables scattered the plaza and the perimeter was lined with a feast of various cuisines, set up like a market.

Katniss gorged herself on a medley of soups served in tiny shooter glasses before piling her plate with a mountain of lamb chops, crab legs, and the most divine gratin potatoes she'd ever encountered. She was nearly halfway through her second plate when she heard Peeta chuckle.

"Slow down," he teased. "It's not like it's still alive. Your food's not going to run off your plate or anything."

She dropped her fork as if it were on fire and pushed the dish from her reach. She didn't mean to eat so ravenously, it was a habit she had picked up when meals were few and far between. Starving, homeless people weren't picky either and she'd spent her fair share of nights devouring scraps from trash bins as quickly as possible before anyone could spot her desperation.

Peeta seemed to recognize what his words had implied as his face turned pale and his expression somber. "Sorry," he said. "That was a stupid thing for me to say."

"Don't feel bad," she said, and picked up her fork to comb it through the remnants on her plate. "My past isn't exactly a secret. In fact, I've been exploiting it in front of the entire country." She wasn't sure what compelled her to say it, but suddenly her chin was lifted and she was clearing her throat to speak. "Besides, you're the only person who reached out to help me when I needed it."

"It was unnecessary," he said and grinned at her earnestly. "You could win easily without me."

"I wasn't talking about the show," she said quietly. In the blink of an eye, she was a little girl again. Terrified, stubborn and alone. She was never able to thank the boy, whom offered her the simplest gift of kindness that reignited her resolve. Given the opportunity, all she could do now was hold his gaze, hoping to transmit her gratitude without having to find the words that always seemed to fail her.

His eyes flickered with understanding, so genuine and caring that it made her breath catch in her throat, before he quickly darted his gaze away. They finished the rest of their meal in silence, but for some reason, she had never felt more at ease.

It was with this weight lifted that she was able to open herself to his company with a freer abandon. While in her mind, she would forever be in his debt, the fact that she had finally thanked him levitated the guilt she had felt for so long. Her pride had been her greatest weakness, causing her to inadvertently punish herself all of her life. And causing her to judge people more harshly than she should. She had wasted too much time assuming that Peeta was silently appraising her every action or pitying her for her past. Perhaps she could learn to accept his kindness, and offer him the same in return. Perhaps she could even trust him enough to let her walls down, to be his friend.

So when they returned to their suite and dressed separately for bed, she stood anxiously in the doorway with the words hanging on the tip of her tongue. "It's silly for you to sleep on the couch," she said, unable to recognize the sound of her voice, so confident and sure. "I mean this bed is so large, it'd be like sleeping in a different zip code."

Truth was, she didn't sleep well alone and hadn't since her time living on the streets, so his company was actually welcome. Some nights she and Prim would pull off at a public park or scenic overlook and she would sit up, alert, with her fingers clutched tightly around the steering wheel while her sister slept. Occasionally she would falter and drift off only to be awoken by an officer telling them to move along. On nights when they were less lucky, she'd wake to mysterious men peeking curiously at them through the darkened windows.

Now, whenever a headlight would shine through her bedroom, she would wake with a start, clutching for Prim's hand to ensure she was safe. Her hotel in Los Angeles was high enough from the traffic and the curtains heavy enough to hide away any light, but she still lay restlessly most nights waiting unsuccessfully for sleep to come. Her makeup artist had commented with mild disgust that she required more concealer than any other contestant because of it.

Being in a foreign country, no matter how lavish the accommodations, didn't quell the anxiety.

"It's fine," he said, as he unsuccessfully propped a pillow behind his neck, only to slouch awkwardly against it. "Maybe just another pillow," he said, climbing to his feet and moving to the bedroom. He reached into the closet to retrieve a pillow and she caught his wrist.

"Stay," she insisted.

He looked at the bed hesitantly and then brought his uncertain gaze back to her. She moved to sit on the bed, drawing back the blankets to offer him access. Her heart rate soared in anticipation, almost as if her body was craving more than just his company, and she bit her lip impatiently. Peeta let out a resigned sigh and mumbled something she couldn't quite catch before he slipped onto the mattress beside her.

His body was distant, balanced as closely to the edge that the bed would allow, but the faint warmth that radiated from him was enough to envelope her in a comforting, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Peeta was hyper aware of the rise and fall of his chest as he slowly drifted into wake. There was a disconnect between the rhythm of soft, even breaths that filled the room, almost as if he wasn't the only occupant. He opened one eye carefully, his vision initially blurry as it adjusted to the morning light. Across the sea of white blankets was a thick mane of dark hair that fell across her pillow in delicate waves. Katniss, he grinned. Last night hadn't been a dream. She really had asked him to stay. Braving the chance, he reached his hand toward her and caught a wisp of a dark chocolate curl around his finger letting the silky strands wrap around it before he tucked her hair behind her ear.

She seemed different when she slept. Her features were softer, almost delicate. Her face round, her pink lips plump and full. Her lips, he found himself staring, and he wished he knew the feel of them pressed against his own. He rolled onto his back to force himself to look at the ceiling instead. Admiring her lips while she slept was definitely creeping into stalker like behavior.

He couldn't help it and slowly turned his head to sneak another glance, only to find that her eyes were now open and trained on him. He hissed sharply with a start and scrambled to sit upright, hoping to hide the fact that he had been watching her.

"Morning," he said tightly.

She arched her back to stretch like a cat, her hair falling away from her shoulders so that her perfect, round breasts were thrust forward and traced prolifically against her thin cotton tank top. No amount of social etiquette training could draw his gaze away from the sight and his jaw clenched when his eyes landed on the tight peak of her nipple. He was mesmerized by the small bud, his mouth watering at the thought of it trapped between his teeth. Sharing a bed with her was a bad idea, he realized, because there was very little chance he would survive this.

"Morning," she said with a yawn and lifted a hand to wipe the sleep from her eyes. Katniss sat up and rested her pillow against the headboard, sliding her body up the length of the bed to lean against it. "So, what are we supposed to do today?"

Lay here forever, he decided, admiring the length of golden skin that was revealed between the hem of her tank top and the waistband of her shorts. Possibly naked, he felt compelled to add.

She cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes curiously at his silence.

"Right," he said nervously and sat up on his elbows. "We'll probably just lay out by the pool. The photo agency has the cabana on the other side of the courtyard to catch some candids."

She shook her head to loosen the long locks that clung to her back and combed her finger through her hair. Peeta shamelessly watched her breasts bounce as she gathered her thick mane at the base of her neck and began to braid it over her shoulder.

Katniss frowned. "We're just going to lay around? That seems like kind of a waste." Peeta licked his lips and drew a knee from the bed so that it tented the sheet away from his lap. "Isn't there a beach we could go to or something?"

There was a pregnant pause and he realized that she had asked him a question. "We made a deal with the resort," he explained. "It's all promotion for them so we're not really supposed to leave the facility. They paid for everything after all."

She brought her knees to her chest, effectively blocking his view and he almost let out a disappointed whimper. "Could we at least go swimming in the pool then?"

"They have a bar that's in this giant wading pool," he said. "We can go there."

"That's like a lukewarm hot tub," she argued and her plump lips formed into a slight pout. "I want to actually swim. The pool at the hotel in LA is stuffy and in a basement and I never have time to use it anyway."

"You can if you want, I suppose," Peeta said and shifted uneasily. "But not for long because we have to be photographed together."

"Or you could swim with me," she said dumbly.

He could feel heat rising in his cheeks and he wanted to die out of embarrassment. "It's just I brought this book that I've been meaning to read forever. You never know when these types of things are going to be green lit for a movie. Every second counts."

Katniss obviously wasn't buying it and lifted her eyebrows curiously. "You're in a tropical paradise and you'd rather sit around and do nothing?"

"Well, yeah," he said, too eagerly.

"Why don't you want to swim with me?" She said pointedly.

Peeta struggled to find another excuse but only dropped his chin in defeat. "Because I don't know how," he said, lowering his voice to be discreet even though no one else was in the room.

"You don't know how?" She repeated slowly. "What do you mean you don't know how to swim?"

Throwing his head back, it hit the headboard with a loud thud. Peeta let out a pained groan, more in response to her question than the throbbing at the base of his neck. He was supposed to be impressing this girl, not proving to her how lame he was.

"We grew up in Pittsburgh, it's not exactly the aquatic capital of the world," he said, practically shouting to defend himself. "And none of my friends had pools," he added as if it helped his case. He never had reason to learn. He was more of a field sport kind of guy and when he made it to Hollywood, he just automatically passed on any sort of beach themed movie.

"Fine," she said and tucked her feet beneath her so that she was sitting on her haunches. She rested her hands on her thighs and nodded. "I'll teach you."

"You're going to teach me?" He asked with a laugh. Smoothing his hand through his sleep rustled curls he added, "In front of all the paps?"

"We can ask them to take five or something," she said.

He didn't know what compelled him, but he grabbed one of the pillows and playfully threw it at her. "Except we're being paid to have our photos taken," he said teasingly. "It's fine, I've survived nineteen years now being watered impaired, I think I can manage a few more."

She let out a sound of indignation when the pillow made contact with her awaiting arms, but the grin across her lips betrayed her. Katniss tossed the pillow aside and climbed off the bed, adjusting the waistband of her shorts as she moved across the bedroom.

"What if you fall off of one of Finnick Odair's fancy yachts, huh?" She stood at then end of the bed with her hands placed on her hips. "What are you going to do then?"

"Hope that he jumps in after me, then I'll ride on his back as he swims me safely to shore," he said. "Maybe he'll even give me CPR, if I should be so lucky."

Peeta watched the way her lips pressed together defiantly, a challenging flare glinting her eyes. She was so stubborn and determined, he knew in that moment he could deny her nothing. "Okay," he said with a hopeless sigh. "Let's do it. It can be my audition piece for 'Drowning Victim Number Five' for the inevitable Baywatch reboot."

"Yeah?" She asked, her smile brighter than a thousand stars combined.

The bathing suit she wore looked to be more for show than for functionality. Just a few yellow patches of fabric that were held in place by an elaborate mesh of woven strings. All through breakfast she fidgeted with the straps, her face flushing when she was unable to hide her exposed skin. Peeta chewed on the inside of his lip to hide the smile that crept across it as he watched her. Katniss may have appeared tough, but there was something strangely vulnerable and pure about her.

Using the old wives' tale about swimming after eating, he managed to stall another half an hour before she forced him towards the pool. It was still relatively early and although there were a few occupied lounge chairs, nobody had yet ventured into the water. Peeta stood at the edge, his toes curling around the stone ledge as he looked out at the calm, crystal blue water.

In one fluid motion, Katniss gracefully swept passed him and was swallowed beneath the surface, barely leaving a splash in her wake. His eyes could barely keep up with her body as it streaked across the length of the pool and back in a single breath.

"Where did you learn how to swim like that in Pittsburgh?" Peeta asked breathlessly and had to blink a few times to prove to himself that she was not in fact a mermaid. Lowering himself to sit on the edge of the pool, he let his feet slip into the water.

Katniss treaded water effortlessly, the waves lapping around her chin so that only her eyes were peering up at him. She swam towards him and rested her elbows on the ledge beside him. Droplets of water sparkled against her olive skin as if she were glowing.

"There was a lake in the woods behind my house," she said. "My dad used to take me in the summer." She drew her knees to her chest and pressed her feet flat against the pool wall. Using her legs as leverage, she pushed off and shot across the water like a torpedo. "You coming in?" She asked, floating leisurely on her back and flicking a toe to splash water in his direction.

"Maybe where it's not so deep," he suggested.

They moved to the shallow end, and Peeta slipped into the water until it settled just above his waist. The water was cool against his skin, and his legs felt heavy as he tried to move against it.

"What's first?" He asked, inspecting the way light danced across his skin in almost a foreign manner when it was submerged.

Katniss obviously hadn't had a lesson plan in mind and seemed to consider his simple request for a long moment. "I could teach you how to float," she offered. She orbited him, spiraling towards him until she stood directly behind him. He felt each hand hook over his shoulders and he gasped when he felt parts of her body brush against his back, his eyes slipping shut in ecstasy. "Lay back," she instructed, her breath warm against his ear.

He began to lean back until he could feel the cool surface kiss every inch of his skin from the base of his back to his shoulders and finally he tilted back his head so that water rushed around his ears. Everything fell silent, save for the sound of his heartbeat, which seemed amplified beneath the waves. Peeta's eyelids drifted closed as he reveled in the sensation of being weightless. Splashing around in the bathtub as a boy had not prepared him for this.

He could hear the hum of Katniss' voice but couldn't make out any of the words. Slowly he let his eyelids creep open, the sun was directly behind her and her face was shadowed so he could only make out her outline.

"Lift your legs," he finally understood. Hesitantly, he lifted each foot one at a time until the water gave way to his weight and he began to sink. He began to kick and thrash his arms to break his fall, but Katniss swept in to catch him, keeping his body cradled at the surface.

"Relax," she cooed, and he felt his breath even out almost instantly. She placed her palms flat between his shoulder blades and jutted them forward. "Keep your back arched," she said. "And keep your arms and legs stretched out." He did as he was told and soon he felt the pressure of her hands leave his skin. Her fingers brushed a few matted curls from his forehead before she framed his face with her palms. "There," she said, her eyes flitting away and back, causing her smile to falter. "You're doing it," she said.

He felt her move away, his body undulating over the ripples she left in her wake. Her small hand found his and she held onto it as she floated beside him. It was only then that he caught sight of the photographers watching them and he remembered why she was here.


	8. From Me to You/Carry that Weight

Katniss tugged at the hem of her dress when she felt another gust of wind sweep passed her. Cinna had selected the yellow sundress special from his private collection, and it was quite lovely in both its color and modest style. Katniss however, was surrounded by a sea of wealthy studio executives, all of whom seemed to appraise her with a dark hunger in their eyes, leaving her feeling exposed and on edge.

Across the garden party, she spotted Clove as she giggled falsely at some silver haired man's story, placing her hand to his forearm in a startlingly intimate gesture. Katniss grimaced and looked away, lifting a hand to gain a waiter's attention to freshen her drink, she'd need a lot of them to survive this afternoon. She stepped over the perfectly shaped hedges that lined the cobblestone walkway to meet the server, and reached for one of the champagne flutes on his tray.

"Hold on, miss," the red head said, adjusting his pink bow tie. "I don't think I can serve you. How about a lemonade?"

Katniss frowned and reluctantly plucked a tall, sugar rimmed glass from his tray. Darius – she read off the name tag that he wore – had been serving her all afternoon. She had thought he was on her side. Traitor.

Lifting the black straw to her lips, she took a long sip from her drink as she let her eyes drift across the crowd. It had been a while since she had seen Peeta, which was odd, since he rarely left her alone for long at these sorts of functions. He was usually at her side, his mouth poised closely to her ear, while they singled out particularly interesting looking party guests from the bunch. Then he would make up a story for them, murmuring it in her ear.

On this day, Mister Snow, the president of Panem Pictures, was hosting a picnic for all of his employees. Since The Mockingjay was one of the studios' productions, she and the other finalists had been invited to attend. Peeta, being a part of the Archie cast, was also on the guest list. They had been engaged in their usual routine when Effie had swept him away with the promise of a "big, big, big" networking opportunity, leaving Katniss on her own to stand awkwardly amongst strangers she had no interest in meeting.

Katniss ducked beneath the shade of a palm tree and leaned against the ridged trunk. Cinna had also provided her with a gorgeous, brown leather handbag that she had tucked her sunglasses in, a move she now regretted as she fished through the bag's contents in search of them. She gracelessly allowed the strap to slip to the crook of her elbow, causing her to nearly drop her drink in the process and she darted forward to prevent it from spilling.

"Need a hand?"

She jumped in startle and swept a hand through her hair to regain her composure.

"I'm fine, thank you," she said breathlessly. Pulling her purse back over her shoulder, she resigned from her hunt and met the eye of her aide.

She didn't immediately recognize him, but she knew he was someone with whom she was familiar with. Her mind raked through all the important people she had met in search of his name. This man with the slicked back hair, round nose, and thick framed glasses – he was a producer for the show, she recalled. "Mister Heavensbee," she said with a satisfied grin.

"Katniss," he replied, his voice warm. "How are you? Well I hope."

"Yes," she said. She wasn't sure why, but she found herself looking over his shoulder, looking for an escape.

"We're so happy to have you on the show this season," he said. "You're quite talented."

She smiled tightly. "Thank you," she said.

"Often we think the arena we provide may be too small for some of our contestants," he said. "Every year we try to think of new ways to challenge our most promising stars."

"I'm just grateful for the opportunity," Katniss said. She narrowed her eyes curiously at Plutarch's tone and shifted her weight uneasily beneath his pressuring gaze.

"I'm not sure if you've noticed," he lowered his voice, "in fact we don't advertise this, but every season we have an underlying theme." Katniss arched a curious brow and Plutarch continued. "This year it's time."

"How so?" She asked, intrigued.

"Twenty four contestants, twenty four hours in a day. I prefer a twelve hour clock myself," he said and retrieved a small gold pocket watch from his jacket. He displayed the delicate face, marked with golden Roman numerals "Which is ironic I guess, because I do so much prefer the thirteenth hour."

"Thirteen?" Katniss said, her eyes darting between the watch in his hand and his imploring eyes.

"Would you look at that?" Heavensbee said. "It's nearly one. I've got an important meeting."

"And miss this lovely picnic?" She questioned and gestured her hand towards the festivities.

"Oh there are far more interesting events on the horizon," he said with a wink before he excused himself and walked away.

Katniss watched after him, trying to ignore the shiver that ran down her spine. She couldn't pinpoint exactly, what made her so suspicious of Plutarch Heavensbee, but she knew he was hiding something. Her anxiety was piqued when she felt a crunch by her ear.

She turned her head to meet Finnick Odair's sea green eyes. "Sugar cube?" He said and extended his hand to present a cube of sugar. "They have them out for the coffee and tea," he said. "Who knew they still served it that way?" He popped the cube in his mouth when she didn't reach for it. "What's wrong with you?" He asked, puckering his lips obnoxiously.

"Have you seen Peeta?" She said, unamused.

Finnick smirked and his eyes lit up. Leaning forward, he paused when their lips were mere inches apart. "What? Worried he'll get jealous?"

Unintentionally, her gaze dropped to his lips, but she didn't loose her composure in the way most women would at this proximity to Finnick Odair. "Hardly," she laughed. "Maybe I miss him."

"Do you now?" His eyebrows lifted and his forehead crinkled in result. "Could have fooled me." He eased away and slipped another block of sugar between his teeth. "I think I saw him with Maureen Sexto, sneaking off towards the servants' quarters."

Katniss frowned. "Who is Maureen Sexto?" She asked.

"His beloved leading lady of course," he said with an amused chuckle. "Or former, I suppose, you being the current. These things can be hard to follow at times."

"I thought she was in rehab," she said, trying to sound disinterested as she lifted her straw back to her lips.

"She's out now," he said.

"Has it been thirty days already?"

"Maybe. Probably not. Who knows?" Finnick chuckled. "Nobody pays attention to such details."

Katniss drained her glass and was able to swap it for a flute of champagne when the next server passed, her eyes settled on the door that the waiters filed in and out of, as if it may suddenly become transparent and offer her a glimpse. "Were they close?" She asked over the rim of her glass.

Finnick had taken a glass as well, and his eyes turned teasing as he took a sip. "Didn't you read the papers?" He said, his voice incredulous although it was obvious he was only pretending. "They were mad for one another. One time they were even photographed _smiling_ near the other."

"So they weren't actually..." she trailed off, unable to finish her thought. She shrugged her shoulders as if it implied the rest of her inquiry.

Finnick grinned, and his sea green eyes sparkled. "I'm not following," he said, though his tone suggested otherwise.

"Don't be obtuse Finnick," she said with a roll of her eyes.

"I always thought you found me at least a little acute," he winked.

"You know what I mean."

He placed a hand on his chest and took a step back. "Are you jealous?" He said.

Katniss scoffed at the thought, because Katniss wasn't the jealous type. Sure, she had scowled a few times at women who had puckered their lips or pushed their cleavage towards Gale when he was tending bar, but that didn't make her a jealous person. She was more curious as to how the resurgence of Peeta's last love interest would affect their current arrangement. She assumed that a beloved starlet would probably trump her on the desirable suitress totem pole. In fact, for all she knew, they were in the kitchen right now ironing out a new contract.

"No," she answered shortly. "Just curious."

"Peeta would never kick you to the curb," he said and wrapped an arm around her shoulder to draw her close. Katniss held her hand to his chest to distance herself from him, but made no move to leave. "You must have noticed this by now."

"He is loyal," she said. "But he made his deal with Maureen first."

Finnick's face turned unreadable and she worried that she had said too much. She assumed that Finnick was in on these charades and had most likely participated in a few himself. He _had_ just been teasing her over Peeta's past romance after all. She tried to think of a way to excuse her words, to twist them so that they seemed genuine.

"You know, matters of the heart," she added quickly.

"I wouldn't worry," he said. "He seems to like you better. Even if Effie made a recommendation, I'm sure he'd choose you. You know," he added coyly, "if the heart wanted that way. Independent of one's career and all."

She caught on to what Finnick was implying, and felt confident that he too was in on the secret. "Are you and Peeta truly friends? Or is that just for show as well?"

"Many things in this town aren't truly as they seem," Finnick said, and took a sip from his drink while his eyes settled on where most of the party guests had gathered. "Peeta Mellark is not one of them."

"I don't think that's true," Katniss said. "He always knows what to say to the cameras or how to carry himself."

"True," he nodded. "But with the people he's told to interact with like you and me and Maureen and Johanna, he genuinely grows to care for us, and you can't help but feel the same in return." Finnick withdrew his arm from Katniss's shoulder and took her empty champagne flute from her to pass off to a server. "You and me, we're the same. We think with our heads. Right?" She nodded. "Peeta's an optimist, he let's his heart get in the way. It's a comfort to have around at times, but it can also be a lot of pressure. Heart of stone versus heart of glass, I'm sure there's a metaphor in there somewhere that could be awfully poetic."

Katniss found herself feeling unsettled as she turned her attention back to the kitchen doors. Peeta had grown to be a comfort to her, but she only looked at their relationship from a selfish vantage point. When she looked to him, she saw how he could advance her career, or how his presence could comfort her through slumber, or how his kindness could inspire her to survive. Finnick was right, people like she were dangerous to those like Peeta Mellark.

* * *

Peeta traced random patterns against the cool, slate counter top, his eyes occasionally flitting towards the chefs as they frantically piled various hors d'oeuvres onto polished silver platters. His companion lifted herself onto the counter and crossed her legs.

"You look well," he said, not bothering to look up from the path of his fingers.

"Thank you," she said in the same disinterested tone.

"How was your stay?" He noticed that his drawing was leaving smudges along the black surface and used the back of his arm to wipe it clean.

"Lovely," she said. "In the oft chance Hollywood's golden boy ever looses his way, I highly recommend it." She leaned back against her hands, placing them flat on the counter behind her. Lifting her chin to look at the vaulted ceiling, she continued. "I hear we broke up," she said. "The studio was very unhappy with my behavior, I shouldn't be surprised."

Peeta kept his head bowed and was unable to meet her eye. He felt a sudden surge of guilt for so easily leaving her behind, especially since in a way, he did care for her.

"The new girl seems just darling," she said. Her sunglasses had been balanced on top of her head like a headband and she slipped them back down to cover her eyes. "Where did you even manage to find someone so clueless?"

"We went to high school together," he said.

"Interesting," Maureen said, the ends of her pin straight hair grazing the counter's surface. "Last time we spoke, you seemed to think you were above arranged, public romances. A hollow existence, I believe you called it."

"That was different," he reasoned. He was mainly above his colleagues acting all tortured and feeling sorry for themselves all the time. "I was tired of pretending and being miserable, all to sell some movie tickets. I'd prefer to use my notoriety for good, and I'm doing that now. The studio didn't pick Katniss, I did. She had a real hard time growing up. She deserves the free exposure."

"That's cute," she said and abruptly began to laugh. "You think you've taken control, don't you? That you've beaten the system." She shifted all of her weight onto one hand so that she could dip her sunglasses down her nose and stare at him directly with her chocolate eyes. "Little Peeta Mellark on his sturdy white horse, taking on the heartless movie executives, and saving his damsel in the process. I swear, your idealism is vastly entertaining."

Peeta ran a frustrated hand through his hair, knowing that he couldn't leave this well enough alone. Maureen always had a way of pushing his buttons, thinking she was clever while Peeta was too naïve to function.

"Your negativity is irritating," he said, pushing off the counter top to stand up straight.

"I didn't mean to upset you," she said sweetly, although it was obvious she didn't give a damn. She reached out to take his hand in hers and gave it a light squeeze. "I just worry about you."

He snatched his hand away as if it burned, and stepped back until he was stopped by the kitchen island.

"No," he said, holding up an accusing finger. "You're trying to make me feel bad about myself, so that you can make yourself feel better. Yes, I'm still playing their games, but I'm doing it on my own terms for once."

"Do you really think it's on your own terms?" She asked, but her mocking grin had been replaced with a frown of genuine concern. "Have you looked at yourself?" Peeta narrowed his eyes, but didn't bother to respond. "What happened to your restaurant? You were so excited about it."

He'd barely thought about it in weeks. "The restaurant was stupid," he said with a resigned sigh. "Carbs in Los Angeles? They've been extinct for years."

"Why is your hair still red?" She countered. "Production has been finished for months now. It doesn't look like you're letting it grow out."

He touched a hand to his copper curls in spite of himself. He had asked Effie a similar question a few weeks ago, when he saw that his biweekly hair appointments hadn't been removed from his schedule. "The studio wants me to keep it until the premiere," he said.

"You're the studio's greatest marketing tool," Effie had explained. "When potential audience members see Peeta Mellark, they should instantly think _Archie Andrews._ How could they possibly do that with a blond mop of hair on your head?"

Personally, he would have liked to give his fans more credit, but he wasn't about to start another argument with Effie, she'd yet to forgive him for the Katniss situation, and he wasn't going to push his limits.

Maureen hopped off the counter and reached out her hand, her fingers curling into his hair as she inspected the strands closely. "There's a very delicate balance," she said. "Nobody pulls far from their leash. Look at what happened to me." Peeta looked up into her sympathetic eyes. "You want to fall in love, I know, but at what cost?"

His eyes darted away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Isn't that what you wanted before?" She said. Peeta looked passed her shoulder to watch the chef carve a leg of lamb into delicate strips. "You seemed determined to create something genuine with me, even though we were awful together. I assumed you were growing sentimental and trying to find a worthy mate. Isn't that why you handpicked your high school sweetheart?" She lifted his chin and forced him to look at her. "You love her, don't you. And now that you have her, you're afraid that they'll take her away from you if you mess up."

He briefly entertained the thought without giving her too much credit. In the past few weeks he had been more diligent in the studio's requests than usual. It wasn't an extreme change, but he was starting to take once seemingly ridiculous tasks far too seriously. Just the other day he had worked in five different product placements in a single outing, (juggling a Subway sandwich and a Marc Ecko shopping bag, while wearing a Mockingjay tee shirt as he headed towards the shitty Fiat 500 he was being paid to drive, that he had purposefully parked in front of a some overpriced art gallery that was looking for some exposure.) He and Finnick used to make it into a competition, a game in jest, to see who could get snapped by the paparazzi in what could be considered the "most valuable photo." This time he was genuinely trying to complete the list of promotions that Effie had handed him without a hint of irony.

"That seems awfully ominous," he said with a nervous laugh. "Who would take her away exactly? The only person who has objected is Effie, and that's because the number of magazine covers I land directly affects her holiday bonus."

Maureen began to absently open the pristine white cabinets, barely even glancing at the contents before closing the door.

"Effie Trinket doesn't have an actual opinion," she said, slamming a cabinet shut. "Everything that woman says is a direct request from the higher ups. She's like a moderately sympathetic robot." She paused and shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know why you worry really. If Panem Pictures grows tired of your current infatuation and calls for a recast, you can always just pull a Finnick and keep your precious love out of the public eye."

"I could," he said, but he was unable to hide his uncertainty, a fact that Maureen was quickly attuned to.

"Oh Peeta, no," she said, and touched a hand to his cheek. "You'll lose yourself completely if you play that game." She kissed the corner of his mouth with gentle lips. "You're one of the good ones, Peeta Mellark. Remember that, all right?"

With that, she seemingly floated from the room, her long maxi dress obscuring her feet as she walked away. Peeta felt unsettled in her wake – as he usually did – and tried to calm himself by tapping his finger against the slate counter. Taking a deep breath, he noticed the time on the oven display and realized he had left Katniss alone for nearly an hour.

She was out in the garden, engaged in a conversation with Finnick and some suits he didn't recognize. Her smile was easy and her eyes were bright as she spoke. She had blended so easily into this world, he realized, that it seemed silly she would ever need to rely on his company to get by.

She was aware of his presence and lifted her hand in a small wave to acknowledge him. He grinned back as best he could and approached her. Almost naturally, she slipped her hand into his when he reached her. "Are you okay?" She whispered into his ear, a concerned frown creasing her lips.

"Fine," he said with a short nod.

Her eyes lingered on him, and he couldn't help but notice. He dismissed any thoughts of this quickly and let her hand slip from his, covering it by introducing himself to the other men in the conversation.

"Do we have to be here much longer?" She asked, placing a hand on his arm to gain his attention.

"No, not at all. Did you need a ride back to your hotel?"

"Please," she said. They excused themselves and Peeta escorted her across the garden, her hand tucked in the crook of his elbow. He helped her into his car, noting the photographers busily shooting pictures from the edge of the driveway.

"Finnick and I were talking about you," Katniss said as he pulled the car out of the lot.

He lifted a hand to acknowledge the paps as they passed, and the bright flashes they used to peer into the tinted windows left him temporarily blinded, forcing him to shield his eyes. "Oh yeah?" He said, his head still bowed. "That's never how you want to hear a conversation start."

"We were talking about your first movie," she explained. "I admitted I'd never seen it."

"Really?" He said. "I thought the premier was required viewing in Pittsburgh."

"I was distracted with other things," was all she had to say for him to understand. There was a brief silence. "What was it about?"

He paused to remember. "Deadbeat mom trying to overcome drug addiction and abusive relationships. It was pretty depressing," he said. "I played her son. We could watch it sometime if you'd like."

"How about now?" She said. "I don't have anywhere else to be."

He eyed her suspiciously and nodded. "Better time than any," he agreed.

Instead of pulling off onto the highway that would lead them to the center of Los Angeles, Peeta turned down a residential street that would eventually lead to his neighborhood. His house wasn't nearly as extravagant as Mister Snow's, in fact it was quite modest for the price tag, but he knew of all the guests he had invited to his home, Katniss was the least interested in silly showings of status.

For such a petite girl, Katniss managed to stretch her body across the full length of his leather couch, and Peeta elected to drop a few pillows on the floor, positioning himself between the sofa and the coffee table so that he could share in the bowl of popcorn that Katniss kept cradled against her.

It had been some time since he had sat down and watched _Beningo Numine_ , and he found himself excitedly recalling the story behind every scene. "That's my bike," he pointed out. "And we didn't have a wardrobe department so we just wore our street clothes."

"I recognize that hoodie," Katniss said, and he found himself smiling at the knowledge that she had noticed him, when often in high school, she treated him like he didn't exist.

By the time the credits rolled, Peeta was feeling a strange amount of nostalgia, that only amplified the somberness that Maureen had caused him to feel earlier. He was no longer the kid that shot that film all those years ago, and he could barely feel a connection to him. He was happy then, that he could remember, he only wished he could feel that again. He frowned, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"So, what'd you think?" He asked, and when he looked over his shoulder, he found her wrapped around a pillow, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks as she slept. "Sorry to bore you," he said lightly, climbing to his feet and placing his hands on his hips.

She stirred, her limbs unfolding from her curled position as she woke. "No, it was good. I just closed my eyes, I swear," she murmured.

"Can I drive you home?" He asked, and held out a hand to help her up.

"That's not necessary," she said with a yawn. "It's so late and the hotel is at least a half an hour away."

"It's no trouble," he insisted. "I could call you a cab, if you'd prefer."

She sat up on the sofa and tucked her legs beneath her. Her loose curls framed her face, her large gray eyes looking up at him shyly. "Or I could stay here," she reasoned.

"Sure," he said, his dumb nodding a clear indicator as to how nervous he suddenly felt. He forced himself to stop and smiled tightly. "I'm sure I have some clothes you could borrow."

She smiled warmly at him and he couldn't help but be fooled into thinking that her fondness was genuine. That even if it weren't for the show, she would want to be here with him. It was with those foolish thoughts that he followed her up the stairs and didn't correct her when she settled in his bedroom instead of the guest room down the hall.


	9. I Want You/Fool on the Hill

Katniss woke with the sun, her vision blurry as she attempted to focus on the open window across the bedroom. Something was off about her surroundings. Her pillow seemed too worn, and was lacking it's usual sterile scent. When she nuzzled her face against it, she could smell something familiar. Vanilla.

She felt the mattress shift beside her, and smiled, remembering where she was. His body was warm against her back and his hand rested on her hip. There was a tingle in her chest, something foreign and pleasant, that seemed to awaken senses she hadn't known she possessed. She found herself leaning into his arms until her back was pressed flush against his chest and his nose tickling her neck. He let out a content, groggy groan, his lips humming against her throat in a way that made her shiver. She liked it, and found herself wriggling against him in hopes of holding onto the sensation.

Chastising herself for indulging in such thoughts, she recalled there were other places she was supposed to be this morning, namely an early morning recording session. Reluctantly, Katniss rolled off the bed and padded out of the room.

Her purse was downstairs, and when she found her cellphone, she was surprised to see that not only was Haymitch conscious at this hour, but was functioning enough to dial a telephone. Listening to the voice mail that suggested she consider giving him a call, she smirked at the thought that Haymitch may have started to care.

"You didn't come home last night," she was greeted with.

"I wasn't aware there was a curfew," she said, moving to the kitchen where she slipped onto a bar stool. "How did you even know. Were you hoping to have a slumber party? To tell ghost stories and gossip about boys?"

"Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart," he said gruffly. "Effie called last night. Said she wasn't aware that yesterday's appearance was going to be an over nighter, but that she called the agency and took care of it. She seemed quite pleased. There's probably a camera crew at the edge of the driveway as we speak, waiting to take your pretty little picture."

Katniss moved to the window and drew back the curtains with her finger to peak outside. Sure enough, a couple of photogs were crouched behind the bushes that lined Peeta's property. "Wouldn't want to disappoint the audience," she said.

"Don't misinterpret this with caring or anything," Haymitch said. "But I worry that maybe you're getting in too deep."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't want to sound presumptuous, or imply that I care about these things, because I don't. But if you're sleeping with the boy..."

"Why would you think that?" she asked, incredulous. She had slept beside him, but she wasn't sleeping _with_ him. She felt herself blush when she remembered the feel of Peeta's lips against her skin. The welcome tingle that made her heart beat a little faster. They hadn't so much as kissed, it was silly to feel so defensive towards speculation of intimacy.

"Well I don't think people are going to think you were telling ghost stories or gossiping about boys while you were holed up in his house last night," he said.

"We're not," she said abruptly, mortified. "Doing... _that._ "

"Like I told you," Haymitch said, sounding disinterested, "I don't care. But good for you. Now it won't be awkward when you introduce him to your sister tomorrow."

As part of the final five contestants, Katniss would travel to Pittsburgh to film a day in her life and interview her friends and family. She had been looking forward to it all week, but she hadn't realized that Peeta would be coming too. It wasn't that she minded him being there, it just seemed unthinkable, blending the world she'd established in Hollywood with her world back home. Sure, Peeta was a presence in her life before the Mockingjay, but that was a fond secret that only she kept. For some reason it made her nervous imagining Peeta with her family. The sorts of questions they would ask her of him. She wasn't sure if she knew the answer.

Katniss didn't pay much attention to the rest of the conversation, only promised to be at the studio on time before hanging up the phone. She climbed the stairs back to Peeta's bedroom to collect her things and found that he was awake.

"I thought you left," he said, stretching his limbs tiredly. He rolled onto his back and folded his hands behind his head to watch her.

"I was just leaving," she said, picking up the lifeless dress that she had discarded on an end chair. "Do you have a number for a taxi?"

"Let me drive you," he said, and drew back the sheets to sit up properly.

Katniss's eyes flitted from his tousled bed head to rumpled tee shirt to flimsy boxer shorts. _Sleeping together,_ she considered _._ She looked away quickly before she could be caught. "No it's fine. You're just waking up."

"I've got more cars than I need," he shrugged. "Why don't you just borrow one?"

"How would I return it?" she asked. She meant it as a serious question, but she couldn't help but laugh at his preposterous suggestion and her tone ended up somewhat flirtatious.

His eyes lit up at the exchange, smiling brightly he said, "You'd have to come back, I suppose."

Her eyes darted to the bed, at the space she had occupied the night before. She looked away again. There was a pause and Peeta began to shift uneasily, as if he was aware that he had said the wrong thing. He hadn't though. He was only stating the obvious, something that Katniss never had the courage to do.

She had no reason to be so guarded, least of all around Peeta. Chasing that feeling of inhibition that had crept up on her that morning, she tugged at the collar of the tee shirt she wore. "Mind if I hold onto these too then?"

"May as well," he said. Katniss caught his eyes roaming her, and folded her arms over her chest. Had she been that obvious a moment ago when she was looking over him? He cleared his throat, a blush staining his cheeks at being caught. "Given my recent success in the entertainment industry, I'm sure many people have forgotten my original claim to fame."

She read, "Carrick High School Wrestling" from the front of her shirt. Peeta was popular enough in school outside of his wrestling career, but ranking second in the state certainly didn't hurt his reputation. In high school it was a badge of honor to wear a boyfriend's letter men jacket or athletic gear. Katniss didn't pay much attention to those sorts of things, or whether Peeta participated in these rituals (although given his popularity, it was likely), but there was something strangely thrilling about it.

Katniss shook away the thoughts. Getting caught up in the thrills of romance wasn't her style. Prim couldn't even watch a movie in her presence because she was a noted "buzz kill" when it came to her sister's favorite genre of romantic comedies.

These films all had a common thread of women who were perfectly successful with plenty of friends and family, but were considered to be cold and unfeeling failures until they learned to love a man with the reckless abandon that led to a series of unfortunate misunderstandings. Katniss always found that these sort of soul searching character arcs brought out the worst in the female heroine. The woman became petty or jealous or short tempered, and during the brief mandatory period in which her new found romance hit turbulence, she would lose the ability to function.

Katniss Everdeen was not about to become a character in one of those films.

Feeling uncomfortable, she smiled tightly. "We could call it foreshadowing, I guess," she said. "Since we'll both be home soon."

"Is that this weekend?" he said. He climbed out of bed and Katniss watched him as he moved about the room. He picked up his discarded jeans from the night before and searched the pockets. "Do you mind that I'm going?" he asked. "It was Effie's and Haymitch's idea. With all the fancy parties and exotic locations we've been spotted in, they wanted to show us being down to earth. I wasn't too crazy about it though."

Katniss frowned. "Why not?" She said. She had been apprehensive to the idea as well, but those reasons were all Peeta related, and based on how to compartmentalize him into her life. It should have been a relief that he felt the same way, but she found no comfort in it.

"I haven't really stayed in touch," he said. He was now standing at the dresser, shuffling through the contents that were placed on top of it. "I don't think I've been home once, since I've moved here."

"Doesn't your family still live there?" she asked.

"They do," he confirmed. "But we're not that close. They've come out here for a few holidays, but we only communicate on a pretty basic 'call me when you're dying' basis."

"You have plenty of friends though," she said.

"Acquaintances, is more like it," he said. "Don't worry, I won't like, try to tag along with you or anything. I'll find ways to keep myself entertained."

"No it's fine," she said, even though only a few moments before she was worrying over the very same idea. "I don't mind."

Peeta finally found what he was looking for and jingled a set of keys between his fingers before handing them to her. She was aware of his proximity. The warmth that his body radiated. It reminded her of the way his body pressed against hers when they were laying in bed. Her breath caught in her throat as she accepted them.

"Katniss, don't worry about me," he said. He touched her cheek and she wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

"Maybe it's me that I worry about," she said, and her voice sounded smaller than she intended. "I'm not looking forward to reliving high school memories. I wasn't exactly Miss Congeniality."

"You have no idea do you?" he chuckled and tugged playfully on the end of her braid. Nobody had ever done that before, and she found the gesture so strangely intimate that she abandoned all thoughts of kissing him in favor of these subtle actions. "Someday maybe you'll see yourself the way the rest of us do."

The words haunted her through her recording session and even the duration of her flight to Pittsburgh. What had Peeta meant? The way people saw her. People didn't see her at all. For all intents and purposes she was invisible to everyone, save Prim and Gale and at times even Peeta, she supposed. She could barely fathom the attention she'd received from the media, but she was aware of it at least. The thought that people at school had noticed her made her feel uncomfortable. Like they sat around pitying her or mocking her.

The flight from Los Angeles was a red eye, so they could begin filming first thing in the morning. Katniss sat in first class beside Peeta, with Haymitch and Effie across the aisle. Effie had taken a sleeping pill upon boarding and Haymitch's alcohol to blood ratio was concentrated enough to make consciousness improbable, leaving both passed out before the flight attendant had finished the emergency protocol. Katniss watched the sun race away from them beyond the clouds, trying to evade sleep, but soon found herself nose to nose with Peeta, huddled beneath a blanket.

She wasn't used to flying like he was, and although she slept for more than she thought possible on an airplane, she lay awake, watching him sleep, through much of the flight. There was something curious about the way he made her feel. She had found people attractive in the past. Had _been_ attracted to people – she had a crush on Gale for the first few years she had known him, until she realized how troublesome relationships could be. But with Peeta it was slow burning. A presence that had constantly simmered in her life, but was quickly tumbling to a boil. She thought of him more than she should. Enjoyed the time she spent with him. Wondered what it would be like to truly know him in the way lovers did.

She bit her lips as her eyes traced his mouth. She wasn't familiar with longing, all she knew was that she really wanted to know what it was like to kiss him. It wasn't until the intercom dinged and the flight attendant announced their final decent, before she finally forced herself to look away.

It was a Saturday morning, so school was out of session, and it was late enough in the year that the sport teams had finished off their season, leaving the Mockingjay crew the only people vacating Carrick High School's parking lot. They set up around a worn picnic table in front of the baseball field, with the school's dumpster as a backdrop. Katniss looked over her shoulder at the rusted bin and cringed at the stench.

Makeup came to adjust her makeup for the third time that morning to compensate for the changing angle of the sun. Each time, they were sure to passive aggressively comment that the other contestants were able to film _their_ full segment on the first coat of makeup.

"Come on, Katniss," Caesar Flickerman urged from behind the camera operators (that Katniss referred to as insects, because they were always buzzing around her with a lens in her face.) "You must have one story to tell."

Katniss shifted uneasily on the stiff bench top. She'd already explained to them that she wasn't involved in any school activities, and the only time she spent at the place was for classes. "Our primary viewership consists of girls aged twelve to eighteen. They want to know how they can be like you, and the easiest way to relate, is through who you were in high school," Plutarch had explained. Katniss had thought that her struggles to raise her sister and keep a roof over her head was her main draw, but Plutarch assured her that the advertisers didn't care to cater towards those who couldn't afford their products.

It was all very inspirational.

Plutarch and Caesar were deep in conversation on the other side of the baseball field, most likely discussing plots to film the entire sequence without having to have Katniss in a single shot. Usually Haymitch was around for these sorts of things, but he had "politely" bowed out of the day's filming, since he hadn't gone to Carrick High School, and had to tend to his geese back home. (Katniss, of course, knew this to be code for drowning in Grey Goose.)

It was sometime around lunchtime, when Peeta dropped by for their scheduled impromptu public stroll through downtown Pittsburgh, much to Caesar's and Plutarch's delight. And their eyes lit up with flashing stars at his presence.

"Get the boy in front of the camera," Plutarch demanded upon seeing him. Peeta wasn't supposed to appear in the segment. They were saving his "official" reveal as her companion for the next episode of the Mockingjay, because it was the first night of sweeps. But desperate times called for desperate measures when it came to making their starlet shine.

Before Peeta could realize what he had walked into, he had a microphone pinned to his black tee shirt and he was being ushered towards the makeshift set while hair and makeup fussed over him.

"Good day?" he murmured to Katniss as he climbed onto the table beside her.

"Charming as ever," she said.

"Oh sweetheart, your charisma is ravishing. Even the executive producer is having a panic attack, and your performance barely effects him." He grinned wide and jutted his chin towards her. "Do I have anything in my teeth?"

She leaned forward to inspect them carefully. "You're good," she said, and couldn't help but laugh.

"Now please, only my left side," Peeta announced in a serious tone. "I don't want to give us movie stars a bad name by going easy on a television crew."

Caesar and Peeta took to one another immediately, and began to speak like old friends. They joked about the amount of weight a camera put on, and Caesar counted the three cameras that were trained on him before grabbing his non-existent gut and jiggling it grandly. Peeta on the other hand, took the time to explain the importance of proper shading along the jawline to counteract the camera's awful effect. Katniss could only sit beside them, bewildered, while she nodded and smiled vacantly at their routine.

"So Peeta," Caesar said, his tone bright now that he had a _real_ celebrity to talk to. "Did you know Katniss in high school."

"Unfortunately not as well as I'd liked," he said. "I did have lunch with her once," he cast a glance in her direction, and if it weren't for all the makeup, she was sure she'd be blushing. "Katniss was always the best singer. Everyone knew it. In middle school she got all the solos in chorus. In the Spring we'd have this concert outside. I swear, everyone stopped to listen when she began to sing, even the birds."

The entire crew seemed to lean in closer to listen as Peeta spoke. "And do you remember what she was like?" Caesar asked.

"Intimidating," he said with a chuckle. "All the guys had a crush on her, but no one had the courage to talk to her."

"And what about you?" Caesar said to him.

"Did I have a crush on Katniss?" he asked, his smile breaking briefly before he regained his composure. "Pretty much for forever," he said. He bowed his head to let out a sheepish laugh. "She never noticed me though."

"That's not true," Katniss said quickly. She had notice him plenty, had cared about him in her own special way from the moment he left that tray of food in front of her. She just never thought of him in _that_ way, and now? Well now, she wasn't so sure.

"Oh please, you can let me down easy," Peeta joked.

Caesar gave Peeta a knowing grin before he asked the next question. "And now that you're a Hollywood heartthrob, how do you suppose she thinks of you now?"

"I don't know," he said, but he spoke with a confident bravado and even slung an arm around her shoulders before he said with a shrug: "She came here with me."

And with that simple remark, Peeta Mellark was able to accomplish more for Katniss's career than any song she would ever sing.

* * *

The Hob could be classified as a bit of a dive. It was located in this strip mall on the far edge of town where half the stores were vacant. There was a laundry mat attached that may or may not have been owned by the same person, and the monotonous sound of tumbling dryers drowned out the music that buzzed through the speaker system. The florescent light flickered above their booth, making it hard for Peeta to focus on the menu. It was either that or the thick layer of fry oil that coated the cracking plastic sleeve. He cleared his throat, his eyes still trained on the menu when he spoke.

"So, what's good here?"

"Anything," she said.

He wasn't sure he believed her. It was 7:30 on a Saturday, and they were the only two people in the restaurant. Laundry mat. Laundrestaurant.

He used his napkin to clean a ketchup stain from the Soup and Salad section. It didn't help.

He had driven passed this place a few times. It wasn't even in a bad part of town, necessarily. The mall was just across the street, and one of the fanciest restaurants in the area was only half a mile up the road.

A round woman with a mop of messy black hair pinned on top of her hair approached. She swiped a hand across her dirty brow and pulled a pad of paper from her apron. "What d'ya want," she grumbled. She had a scowl that was more rigid than Katniss's, if that were possible.

"What's in the stew today?" Katniss asked without hesitation. He wandered if there was some sort of rotating special, because all he saw was "Beef Stew" on the menu.

"Got some deer'n pork," she said. "Son'n law shot the doe this morning."

"What part of the deer?" Katniss asked skeptically.

"The goo'part," the woman mumbled.

"No entrails," Katniss said. Peeta swallowed thickly at the request.

"No, no," she said. "Good part," she said and patted her belly, as if that explained everything.

Katniss seemed to understand, however, and handed over her menu. "I'll take a bowl of that," she said.

Both women looked to Peeta, and he fumbled with his menu. "Sounds delicious," he lied. "I'll have one two."

The woman snatched his menu away and dropped a basket of sliced sandwich bread on the table between them.

"She's lovely," Peeta said.

"Sae?" she said. "Terrifying woman, but she can put anything in a stew and make it taste good."

"Can't wait," he said tightly. He unfolded the square cocktail napkin that came with their silverware and unfolded it to cover his lap, but only successfully managed to cover one thigh. "So why'd you take me here again? Effie made reservations down town."

"I wanted to see you out of your element," she said, her voice suspiciously amused.

"You've seen me nearly drown in the shallow end of a swimming pool," he said. "I think we're even."

"Fine. Maybe I wanted to give the paparazzi a change of scenery," she shrugged.

"Good," he said and lifted his glass of water, but upon closer inspection, set it back on the table. "Maybe one of them will get mugged." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Kidding."

Her eyes lingered longer than they should and he could feel his heart pounding in his ears.

He looked down at his hands, then back to her. "Look, about what I said today. I hope it didn't make you uncomfortable or anything."

"About the crush?" she said. She picked up a slice of bread, and began to pick off the corners. "It's fine," she said. "I mean. It's the act. Right?"

He nodded a bit too eagerly. "Of course, yeah. The act."

"Although I think you were pushing it," she said. "All the boys having a crush on me? No one will believe that was true."

"They did though," he said. He neglected to tell her how, exactly, he knew this. He'd gotten more than an ear full in the locker room of what most the guys in their class wanted to do to her. "You were very mysterious. Unattainable. Guys like that."

She narrowed her eyes at him and nibbled on her bread. "But not you," she said.

He let out an uneasy laugh. He hesitated. "No," he said, bowing his head. "Maybe a little," he said quickly. "But that was a long time ago, and we're friends now."

Her expression turned unreadable, but it was only a flash before Sae set their bowls of stew on the table.

The soup was surprisingly good, and he took a cue from Katniss, lifting the bowl from the table to slurp down its contents. He could feel the broth dripping down his chin, and with his mouth still full of indistinguishable ingredients he said, "What I mean is, I can't have a crush on you because we're madly in love," he winked at her. "So it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it." Partially chewed vegetables had managed to dribble down his chin at this point, and Katniss began to cough from choking on her food.

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," she tried to say evenly, but broke into another fit of laughter.

He was only kidding when he said it, never thought in a million years that she would reciprocate it, but as he held the Hob door open for her on their way out of the restaurant, she paused, turned on her heels and kissed him. Her lips soft and firm against his in a way he had only dreamed about in the past. She pulled away, but still lingered, and he ceased the opportunity to capture her lips again. This time kissing her properly, cupping her cheeks in his hands to part her lips with his. He wondered if there was a way to live in this moment forever. How long he would be able to kiss her until the dream inevitably ended.

She placed a hand on his chest and he took that as his cue to pull away. "What was that for?" he murmured. His eyes flickered between her eyes and her mouth, wondering if he could sneak another kiss.

She bit her lip and nodded in the distance over his shoulder. He followed her gaze without thinking, and was immediately blinded by a camera flash. He felt his knees buckle, as if he'd just been kicked in the chest. It was all for show. She'd only kissed him because the cameras were there.

Peeta took a deep breath before he could turn to face her. This was business, and would be handled as such. "Okay. They got their money shot but they can't see us leave together. You walk to your car first, and I'll follow after later."

She nodded, her lips pressed together forming a tight line in a typical, unreadable, Katniss Everdeen expression. "I'm going to see Prim," she said. "You can come if you want."

He shook his head and watched her leave. Peeta waited until her car had pulled out of the parking lot before he hurried to his, waiting until the door was closed tightly behind him before he allowed himself to break.

He couldn't do this anymore. The pretending. He was getting too close now, and his head was in a losing battle with his heart. He caught sight of his reflection in the rear view mirror, and swiped his fingers through his rusted curls. He wasn't going to hide behind a character or a company line anymore. He was going to be himself again.

Pulling his car into the convenience store across the street, Peeta Mellark went on a hunt for some hair dye.


	10. Baby It's You

Katniss stood on the Hawthorne porch and lifted her hand hesitantly. She glanced back at the dark driveway, where her old green Civic was pulled up beside the Hawthorne's Plymouth Voyager. Prim wasn't sixteen yet, but Gale's brother, Rory was, and Katniss was sure that her little sister had used her charms, to enlist the boy's service as her chauffeur.

Pressing her lips together, Katniss looked at the curb in front of the house, to see if Gale's car was parked there. It wasn't. He was probably at The Seam, she reasoned. Gale worked crazy hours at that bar, after all, it was the only way to keep a roof over his family's head.

She wasn't sure what it was, but a strange emotion washed over her. Disappointment? Guilt? Relief? She didn't know.

Her lips buzzed, suddenly, and she touched her fingers to them. Prim and the Hawthornes were going to ask her about her relationship with Peeta. She had spoken to Prim about it, weeks ago, but that was when things were strictly business. Not to say that they had crossed to boundaries of professionalism. Technically it was _still_ strictly business. But she didn't feel that spending time with Peeta was a chore. They were friends now. She trusted him. Cared for him even.

She leaned her forehead against the storm door, unable to work up the courage to knock. Letting out a sigh, she licked her lips, which gave her pause. She could still taste their kiss. She laughed for even entertaining the thought, and chewed hard on the inside of her lip. The kiss was nice, she supposed, but there was something else about it, something she couldn't quite touch upon.

Kissing boys in the past had been a chore. Empty actions that carried little weight other than to satisfy the status quo of adolescence.

Why had kissing Peeta been so different? It was for show, just like all the other kisses she'd shared, only this time it was for the cameras. Yet, there was something about this kiss that was different from any other. It was the type that made her want another.

The front door opened to reveal an expecting Primrose. She put her hands on her hips and looked at her older sister curiously. "Were you planning on coming in?" Prim asked.

Katniss lifted her forehead from the glass of the storm door. "I've grown accustom to a new lifestyle, I suppose," she said with a sheepish smile. "Can't risk getting these valuable hands soiled."

Prim pushed the door open, and Katniss entered the room. "What do hands have to do with singing?" she mused.

"I have people on staff to answer such pedestrian questions," Katniss said, lifting her nose as she passed her sister.

"And you promised fame wouldn't change you," Prim said. She closed the front door and ran into her sister's arms, hugging her tightly. "I'm sure you're insured for any hug damage, and even if you weren't, I don't care. I've missed you!"

Katniss embraced her sister. "I've missed you too, little duck, so much."

"I'm not a little duck," her sister said, giving Katniss a patented Everdeen scowl.

She pinched Prim's nose. "You will always be to me," she teased. "Have you been studying for your finals? Are you still brilliant?"

"Finals aren't for another week, and I barely need to pass them to get an A in the classes," Prim said and rolled her eyes. "Who cares about that though, Katniss you're famous!"

"Trust me, in ten years when everything is said and done, the only Everdeen name anyone will remember is Doctor Primrose. Your achievements will outshine my ability to wear a yellow sundress next to an attractive man."

"So you think he's cute?" Prim said with a wicked smile.

"Don't even go there," Katniss shook her head, and silenced her with her finger against her lips.

She scowled again. "How's the show? Tell me everything!"

Katniss moved to the couch in the living room and took a seat. "A lie," she said. "Nothing is real. It's all about playing a part. I'm not even sure they actually _like_ my singing."

"That's not true Katniss," Prim said sitting beside her. "You should see the judges; faces when you sing, it's as if they've never heard music before." She reached for a notebook on the coffee table and pulled it into her lap. "I've been keeping all the newspaper clippings," she said, handing the book to her. "I was going to put it in a nicer book this summer, after you'd won."

Katniss flipped through the pages. Starting with her first audition, when they ran a piece about a busker turned star.

"You've given so many people hope, Katniss. Not everyone is caught up with your whirlwind romance. A lot of people see a fighter, a survivor. You're an inspiration, especially to me."

Katniss kissed her sister's cheek before turning her attention back to the scrap book. "Don't worry Primrose, Haymitch may seem unreliable, but I have no doubt he knows what he's doing. I'll get that record deal, and then your dreams can come true."

"Our dreams," she corrected.

The articles about the Mockingjay competition abruptly ended, and the pages were filled with pictures of her and Peeta, all captured from various magazines.

"My dream is for you to be happy," Katniss said, placing the notebook on the coffee table, out of sight.

Prim reached for the book and placed it back in Katniss's lap. "And my dream is for you to be happy," she said.

"I am happy," she lied.

Prim looked at her knowingly and pointed at a clipping of her and Peeta in Mexico. "I know," she said. "At least it looks that way."

"We're friends" she said. "We have fun together."

"It's okay to like him," Prim said.

"It's complicated," Katniss said, and flipped the book closed, pushing it across the table and out of her sister's reach.

"Complicated?" her sister said, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. "Katniss you have a crush on him!" She nearly shouted, and Katniss covered Prim's mouth with her hand to muffle her laughter.

"Crush on who?" he said, causing both girls to freeze.

Katniss scrambled to her feet, wanting to distance herself from the newspaper clippings spread across the coffee table. "Gale," she said.

He looked her over with a stern scowl, his gray eyes appraising her as if she'd come back with a second head. His expression softened, and his lips twitched as closely to a smile as Gale Hawthorne could. "Catnip," he said.

She sighed with relief and crossed the room to hug him. His chest was solid, and his arms sturdy as they wrapped around her. She couldn't help but compare it to the way that Peeta held her. It wasn't bad, just different.

"I heard you got yourself a boyfriend," he said gruffly. His words were traced with a hint of distaste, based off jealousy or the need to protect her, she couldn't tell. "Some California pretty boy, charm your socks off type."

"Aw, are you worried that he's prettier than you?" she teased.

"I'm worried that he's prettier than you," he said.

"This face?" she asked, pointing at it, and pouting her lip playfully. "Besides, Peeta's not a California boy, he's Pittsburgh through and through, just like us."

"Whatever you say," he held up his hands to silence her protest. "If they sent me to Mexico, I'd probably date him too."

She threw her arms around him again. "I've missed you," she said. And it was true. She missed the easiness between them. How quickly they could fall back into sync as if nothing had changed.

Again she found herself comparing him to Peeta. She and Peeta had a comfortable rapport as well, but there was a tension, like a secret between them that they dare not speak of. She wondered if kissing Gale would be like kissing Peeta. If she could generate those same urges in his arms.

"How long are you staying?" he asked, pulling away and holding her at arms' length.

She felt her face flush, and brushed away the thoughts. "Only tonight," she said. "I leave in the morning."

"You staying here?" he said, and she nodded. "Hopefully I'll catch you at breakfast then."

She frowned. "You working tonight?"

"Tonight and every night," he said, and moved to the hallway closet to retrieve the hard hat and suspenders for his Seam uniform.

"Saturdays still open mic night?" she said with a hopeful smile.

"Yeah, but I figured you'd want to spend some time with your sister," Gale said, and placed his cap crookedly on top of his head.

Katniss looked from Gale to Prim. "Go," her sister said. "You'll just have to make it up to me by sending me out to LA for your finale, lavishing me at spas, and introducing me to Justin Bieber, or whomever happens to be the coolest pop star at the time."

She hugged her sister once more. "We'll catch up later tonight, okay?" she said.

The ride to The Seam was one she had made a thousand times. She felt a smile tug at her lips at every twist and turn that she recognized like the back of her hand. It was nice to feel at home again, especially when she had barely learned to walk beneath the spotlight in Hollywood.

Gale pulled into the parking lot a few blocks away from The Seam, behind a chain link fence that Katniss always preferred to climb over, even though it could easily be walked around, as Gale did. Katniss landed on her feet with a soft thud, and smoothed her skirt down her knees.

"Still got it," she said proudly.

Gale dropped his arm across her shoulder. "You sure do," he said.

There was more humidity in Pittsburgh than there was in Los Angeles, yet somehow the air felt light and clean, the breeze off the river offering a cool relief from the late spring heat.

"Have you been to the Hob yet?" Gale asked, watching her with an amused smirk.

"First stop I made after the monkey suits released me," she said. "You should have seen Peeta's face when we walked through the door."

"Peeta," he repeated, this time taking the time to conjure his name from memory. "The baker's kid, right? You took him there? If he didn't already suspect that you secretly hated him before, he certainly does now."

She paused. "What do you mean by that?"

"It's all for the show, right?" he said, his tone more heavy with accusation than anything else.

"Right," she said, but her voice was small, hesitant to speak the word.

"You get along at all?" he asked carefully.

"Sometimes," she said. She suddenly felt protective of her relationship. Sure it was built on lies, but it was more genuine than she let on. She didn't want anyone, especially Gale, to think that it was completely phony. "He's not like everyone else," she said. "He sees through the industry just like you and me and Haymitch. He's only going along with the whole romance thing to help me."

"I bet," Gale grumbled. They stopped in front of the entrance of The Seam and Gale paused. He lifted his hard hat to swipe a hand through his hair before lowering it again. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I'm worried about you getting taken advantage of, that's all. I know how short sighted you can be when you really want something. Sometimes you're kind of oblivious to things that are standing right in front of you."

Gale's gray eyes seemed bigger than usual as they stared into hers, and she felt her throat tighten in response. She clenched her jaw so tightly that her chin trembled. Again she thought of Peeta, and how his eyes drowned in a similar haze right before she kissed him.

Katniss abruptly turned to open the door to The Seam, and slipped into the bar, leaving Gale behind.

Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dusky lighting, made to resemble that of a mine shaft. What little dinner rush that The Seam had, had long passed, and most people were congregated around the L-shaped bar that spanned the entire west wall. There was an amateur band on the far stage. A guitarist and a base player crooning a Beatles song in a manner she had never wished to know.

She heard a group at the bar grumbling a complaint about the musical act, before one looked up to catch sight of her. She didn't recognize the patron off hand, but he recognized her, and quickly shouted over the crowd. "Let's get Katniss Everdeen on stage!"

The chants for her performance quickly grew, and Gale winked at her before urging her towards the stage. The guitarist from the less than stellar band, forfeited his guitar to her, and she spent a moment adjusting the strap and plucking the strings to get comfortable with the feel of the instrument in her hands.

"I'm sure a few of you may have seen me on television," she said meekly into the microphone. "But hopefully some of you remember me from here too." She played a few chords, and her fingers found their place along the fret with ease. "I've been singing a lot of mainstream pop songs lately," and the crowd booed in response. She smiled, "but I was hoping you guys wouldn't mind if I played some of my own material."

She looked at Gale as she began to strum the opening notes. Over his shoulder, in the back of her mind, she swore she could see Peeta too.

_I don't want to know_

_I don't want to see_

_If this is love, it means nothing to me._

_Turn around now_

_Before it's too late_

_I won't give into these words about soul mates and fate._

She closed her eyes, refusing to think about the roles that Peeta and Gale played in her life, or how they differed. She cared for them both, needed them in her life, but there was something that separated them, something that her mind could not conjure.

She never wanted to worry of these things. But this feeling consumed her, like air, and water, she needed this beat in her heart to survive.

_The fool on the hill_

_With him I will be_

_He sees through the lies of love's mystery._

_Perched high above the world_

_I won't bend, I won't break_

_The cruel fate of love, my heart, it won't take._

The room erupted in applause, and she bowed, setting aside the guitar, before she planted herself on an empty stool at the bar. Gale poured her favorite drink, a Gold Rush Pale Ale, and slid it into her hands. It was the same drink he served her after she sang on stage for the first time. She smiled. That warm feeling filling her chest.

Every hurdle in her life, she thought of Gale, and how he was there, helping her along the way. This Mockingjay competition was the first time in years she hadn't had Gale by her side. She frowned. Instead she had Peeta, and Haymitch. Perhaps that was the fondness she was feeling. This familiarity with Gale, was she projecting that onto Peeta? Finding comfort in his friendship in a similar manner.

She relaxed then. Having another beer and singing a few songs up until last call. "If only the cameras had caught this version of Katniss Everdeen," she said. "The producers think I'm awful."

Gale smirked, "Well why didn't they come here then?"

"They don't _like_ this Katniss," she said. "She's not glamorous enough for them."

"Then they don't deserve her."

She considered this. The life she was immersing herself in. It wasn't meant to last forever. Only long enough to win a contest and get Prim through college. Once she was through, she would leave that life behind, a part of the deal she rarely considered. It never mattered before, but now it included leaving Peeta, and this "whirlwind" romance behind. She wasn't sure if she wanted to. But once the show was over, would they even need one another anymore?

These thoughts clouded her mind as she watched Gale close, like a heavy weight that she could not escape.

"Hey, are you all right?" Gale asked, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, as they stepped into the chill of the late night air.

"What?" she said, unable to focus.

"You seem distant," he said. "You've got that scheming look in your eye," he pointed at his own eyes as if to imitate the expression.

Katniss bit her lip and turned to face him. Leave it to Gale to catch onto her confusion. Perhaps he was onto something. If Peeta was her Hollywood Gale, she would be able to recognize it. They would both fill her needs in the same way. There was only one way she could be sure.

"Can I?" she frowned. "Can I ask you something?"

"You know I'd do anything for you Catnip," he said, with that crooked grin of his.

She rolled onto her toes then, and kissed him. He was taller than Peeta, so her neck tilted back at a different angle, in a away that made it difficult to breath. His calloused fingers were rough against her cheek, and the sensation was all that she could focus on. The taste of his lips were even distracting. Smoky and salty, from the musk of the bar. Peeta tasted like Sae's stew, and it made her smile.

She pulled away and shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said.

"It's fine," he said. She could feel him looking down at her, but couldn't work up the courage to look him in the eye again.

"I had to do it," she explained, as awful as it sounded.

"Just once," he agreed. "But I'm not him, huh?"

"He's not you," she corrected.

He let out a laugh that could never be confused with amused. "And that's not enough for you."

"Gale," she said, reaching out to grab his hand. She loved Gale, but it wasn't in the way she was supposed to. When she kissed him, it didn't stir the feelings inside her

He pulled his hand away. "Not today, okay?"

She held her hand over her heart, her eyes flitting between him and the sidewalk, before she began to back away. "I have to go," she said, turning to run down the empty street.

Katniss couldn't trace the steps that led her to the door of his hotel suite, her feet carried her there without thought. She stared at the brass numbers, before hesitantly lifting her hand to knock.

"Just a minute," came his muffled response.

She drew her hand to her mouth and chewed on the tips of her fingernails, contemplating whether or not this whole thing was a mistake. She could bolt right now, and he'd never be the wiser. There was even a key in her pocket that opened the room three doors down. Her toes itched to move, but she found herself firmly planted in place.

The sound of footsteps grew louder, and she could hear the flip of the locks on the other side of the wall. She wanted to run, could still escape, but then the door swung open.

"Hey," Peeta said, his eyes looking her over quizzically.

"Your hair," she said.

He lifted the towel in his hand to his head, and tussled the damp hair behind his ear. "Is it awful?" he asked, his face cringing bashfully. "I'm not exactly sure how the stuff works. I read the instructions, but wound up just using it like shampoo."

She gasped. It was him. The boy with the fluffy yellow curls and piercing blue eyes. How could she ever blend Peeta's and Gale's part in her life, when she saw this Peeta. Her Peeta.

She tried to form words, but her mouth was too dry to speak. If the confusion that had consumed her before, hadn't rendered her incapable of rational thought, seeing the ghost of the boy who had saved her life would.

"Hopefully when I wake up, it's not green or something," he said. He chuckled nervously, seemingly aware of the tension Katniss brought with her.

"You're back," were the only words she could muster.

Peeta narrowed his eyes and lowered the towel from his hair. "Pardon?" he said.

She reached out her hand, to comb through his golden locks and his blue eyes sparkled when her palm accidentally brushed his cheek. He leaned into her hand, causing her heart to swell in that way she was growing accustomed to. In a way that no one else could.

"You're back," she said, more certain this time.

"I never went anywhere," he said. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and she found her eyes drawn towards his mouth. "Is everything all right?" he said.

She swallowed tightly, darting her eyes away before meeting his gaze again. "Of course. Why do you ask?"

"I thought you were staying with your sister," he said.

Her hand was still on his cheek, and she pulled it away, as if he were on fire. "I was," she said. "But the Hawthornes, there really wasn't any room for me. It seemed silly to waste a perfectly good hotel room."

"Right," he agreed with a nod. "Same reason I didn't stay with my folks." He shrugged his shoulder. "Technically, I guess. Lunch with my mother is more than enough quality, family time for me." He tried to laugh it off, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"May I come in?" she said.

He stepped aside to grant her access, and she moved passed him to sit on the edge of the bed. She folded her hands in her lap, chewing on the inside of her cheek, while she tried to focus her attention on the images that softly glowed on the television screen.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Peeta said. He tossed the damp hand towel into the bathroom, and approached her carefully.

"Hmm?" she hummed. Katniss felt the bed shift beside her, her stomach tightening when she felt his arm brush against hers. Her heart began to beat a little faster, anticipating something that was completely foreign to her.

"Did something happen?" he asked. His leg was pressed to hers from knee to hip. The warmth sending tingles through her toes.

It hadn't felt like this with Gale. When she kissed him, she didn't feel that flicker in the pit of her stomach. The flame that engulfed her with heat and spread through her arms and legs.

"No," she said shortly. She wanted to kiss him again. "I'm just tired," she said. But kissing him didn't seem enough. The air felt lighter and there was a buzz from her core that forced her to clench her legs together in order to suppress it.

"Would you like me to walk you to your room?" he asked.

"I want to – could I – can I stay?"

"Katniss, I..." he began, a frown creasing his lips.

He didn't want her. He didn't need her like she needed him. She hadn't thought that his feelings would deviate from hers.

Dread consumed her, urging her to take flight. She hurried towards the door, but he caught her arm, refusing to let hr go.

"Katniss, I want you to stay. Believe me, I do," he ran a hand through his hair, the hem of his white tee shirt lifting to expose a stretch of smooth skin. She was mesmerized by the way the cotton material stretched over his chest, wanted to trace the patterns. He moved toward her and she felt her entire body tense. Anxiousness swelled in her chest, like if she didn't act in this moment, she would lose her chance forever. She needed to understand her feelings for this man, they would haunt her until she did.

Peeta let out a painful sigh before he continued. "I need you to know th –"

She refused to let him finish. With shaking hands, she cupped his face, and pressed her lips to his. He didn't respond, didn't even move, and she felt humiliation rise to her cheeks. She lowered her hands and bowed her head so that he couldn't see her face.

"Katniss," he said again, his voice gentle and strained. She could feel the heat of his breath on her forehead, his soft lips occasionally grazing against her skin, as she rocked on her uneasy knees. He lifted her chin with his fingers, forcing her to look at him. Glassy eyes met glassy eyes, caught in an unspoken spell.

The blue in his eyes turned dark, hungry, it took her breath away. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the pads of his fingers tracing along the column of her neck.

She kissed him with more certainty, until his lips parted and he took control. His tongue touched hers, igniting a new kind of need with in her. He held her by her hips. Pulling her firmly against him until she couldn't tell where he ended and she began.

This kind of want, this kind of need was different than any that she had ever known. There was no confusing this desire with any other. And for the first time in her life, Katniss Everdeen gave into it.


	11. Don't Let Me Down/I Should Have Known Better

The thing about East to West Coast flights, was that leaving the east relatively early in the morning, got you to the west relatively early as well. So while the rest of the coast was lazily waking that Sunday morning, Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen were halfway through their day.

Haymitch had missed the flight, much to Katniss' chagrin, leaving Effie next to an excited passenger, who had been upgraded to first class for the first time. Effie was the kind of traveler who only interacted with her neighbor if their suitcase was of equal or greater value to her own. And the duct tape that held together the straps of the young man's Jansport backpack, suggested that the price was incomparable to the Prada briefcase tucked in her lap, leaving Effie Trinket nearly frozen in terror. To say that she was out of her element would be an understatement.

Peeta took advantage of his publicists' distraction, lifting away the armrest that separated his seat from Katniss's to pull her against his chest while she slept. Even braving a few kisses against her forehead, because that was the type of thing he was allowed to do now.

The flight was uneventful. The air stuffy. The movies no good. And all he could really think about was the girl sitting beside him. Katniss had kissed him. No cameras, no fans, no studio executives, just the two of them, and she had kissed him. He could still feel the heat from her body pressed against his. Her lips steady and firm as they slid against his. It had felt real.

Their seats were fully reclined, and although they weren't of the lay flat variety, it was enough for her to comfortably drape her arm across his chest and use his shoulder as a pillow. He caressed the pads of his fingers along the length of her arm, her skin like velvet beneath his touch. Her hair smelled like hotel shampoo. The shampoo she had used from his shower, before dressing in his sweats, and kissing him until strands of her wet hair had clung to his cheeks.

He really wanted to kiss her again.

Peeta tightened his grip on the arm he had wrapped around her waist to draw her closer. Her shirt had ridden up her back, exposing a length skin above the waistband of her jeans, and he stroked his fingers hungrily against it.

She began to stir, her gray eyes peering up at him over the bunched up ridges of his tee shirt. He lifted his hand to touch her cheek and she smiled at him, giving him all the encouragement he needed to bow his head to brush his lips against hers.

"What was that for?" she murmured lazily.

"Practice," he said, a grin teasing his lips as they lightly grazed hers. "In case the cameras catch us again. This will have to look believable."

"I don't see any cameras," she said.

He sighed heavily and stilled the movement of his fingers, resting them on top of her cotton tee shirt. These types of thoughts were what plagued him now. Wondering which moments were genuine and which were for show. They had crossed some sort of plateau the evening before, he knew that, but now that they were being thrust back in front of the cameras, he wasn't sure what would be real or not. He wanted for it to be real.

"I don't want to go back," he said.

"We were barely gone twenty four hours," she argued.

"True," he said. "But I found those twenty four hours to be fairly enjoyable."

Her face flushed slightly in a way that made his heart beat a bit faster. "It was nice," she said. "I mean there were still cameras, and the show, but it was more quiet. I missed that."

"Who says it has to end," Peeta said.

The stewardess came down the aisle to remind them to prepare for arrival, and Katniss looked at him curiously as she brought her seat back to the upright position.

"Stay close when we land, okay?" he said, his voice light with mischief. "We're going to lose the chaperone."

Katniss glanced across the cabin towards Effie, who had slipped on a sleep mask, even though it was obvious that she was still awake.

"How exactly do you plan on that?" she asked.

The plane landed , and Effie sat still as a stone, with her face mask firmly in place, determined to ignore her neighbor. Peeta pulled out his phone, and powered it on. Opening up a browser, his thumbs tapped across the screen.

"Have you ever tried calling a radio station?" he said, as he pulled up the web page for a popular LA station.

"There were a couple of shows that Prim wanted to see in Pittsburgh," she said. "But the line was always busy."

"Exactly," Peeta said. He copied the phone number and opened up an e-mail message.

"Who is Isaac Utiv Maeby?" Katniss asked, reading off the screen.

"He's the number one executive at the studio I made up," he shrugged. The ruse had proven to be surprisingly effective, and Effie had yet to investigate the validity of Propos Pictures. His publicist was a bit too thorough when it came to planning every waking moment of his life, and Peeta had resorted to drastic measures to get a bit of his own time back. The $7 he paid a month to hold onto the domain name was entirely worth it. He had escaped countless appearances through scheduling meetings with this mythical company.

"Effie," Peeta mumbled as he typed out the words in the e-mail. "Major project in the pipeline. Being fast tracked. Role was practically written for Peeta Mellark. Urgent. Contracts must be finalized today. Call back right away." And then he pasted the phone number. "Best Regards, Isaac U. Maeby."

He hit send and pocketed the phone. "After you," he said, gesturing towards the aisle, where passengers were beginning to file towards the exit. He reached over towards Effie's seat and tapped her shoulder gently. "Effie," he said sweetly. "We wouldn't want to leave without you."

Effie slipped her sleep mask to her forehead and looked around curiously, to be sure that her delinquent neighbor was gone, before she followed them off the plane.

Peeta navigated his way through LAX flanked by Katniss and Effie. Effie had her nose buried in her Blackberry, scrolling through the e-mails she had missed en route. She was in the process of calling back Mister Maeby when they reached arrivals, in search of the Town Car scheduled to pick them up.

"Busy," Effie muttered as she typed the number in again. "What kind of executive has a busy line on a Sunday."

"Is it Propos?" Peeta said innocently. "The ones doing that futuristic dystopian revolution war film? It's supposed to be the biggest blockbuster of the summer," he assured her.

She eyed him skeptically. "Of course," she said. She read the e-mail again and dialed him back. "It's ringing," she said.

Realizing that he was running out of time, Peeta lifted his hand to beckon a cab. When Effie's back was turned to them, he ushered Katniss into the waiting cab and they sped away just as Effie shrieked, "No I do not want free tickets to a Carly Rae Jepsen concert."

They were expected at the Capitol Bar and Grille for brunch, at least that was according to Effie's itinerary, but instead, Peeta bypassed this activity and headed straight to his house. He was forced to turn his phone off about halfway through the ride, when the ringing from Effie's excessive calling got to be too much.

"Telemarketer," he said, causing Katniss to laugh.

They gathered the fixings for a picnic, including a fresh loaf of bread that his father had sent him home with.

Los Angeles was surrounded by golden rolling hills, which contained the air in a way that kept the weather nice basically 365 days out of the year. The Santa Monica Mountains were probably the most well known of these ranges, and housed some of the most prolific parks in the area. The observatory, in Griffith Park, from Rebel Without A Cause was located there, to place it in the proper perspective.

Peeta avoided that stretch because it was fairly touristy. But tucked on the far side of the mountain range, with just as spectacular of a view, was Ruth Trainer Center Park. It only had a couple of benches and one of those quarter operated swiveling binoculars, but Peeta liked it that way. It meant that no one had a reason to be there, unless they were sixteen, and it was after nightfall.

Peeta unfolded the blanket on the far edge of the hill, just where the land disappeared from beneath his feet leaving only air. The sun was high, and hot in the sky and the wind picked up off the slopes of the hills to kiss his skin with cool relief.

Los Angeles disappeared in the haze of smog, but if his eyes focused long enough on the distant horizon, he could make out the outline of the city skyline.

"What more could you ask for?" Peeta said, the soft breeze from the Santa Anas lifting his loose curls from his forehead.

Katniss sat on the blanket and ruffled through the basket they had packed. She retrieved the loaf of bread and began spreading soft cheese on a slice.

"I could think of a few things," she said, unimpressed, before taking a bit. The sun was bright, causing her to squint as her gaze followed his, and Peeta couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was. He seemed to notice that a lot lately, in fact it seemed like the only thing he noticed. Not that he minded.

"Right, of course," he said with a quick chuckle that was meant to sound self deprecating. "I'd like to be able to sing all of 'Scenes from an Italian Restaurant' without sounding like a bumbling drunk guy, but I'm talking about life's essentials here. I'm feeling pretty fulfilled right now," he chanced a glance in her direction before he finished. "I feel like I have everything I've ever wanted."

"I shouldn't be surprised," Katniss said, her voice teasing and her eyes still focused on something in the distance. "I've seen your car."

He could feel the heat behind his own gaze, as if willing for her to understand without any spoken words. "I wasn't talking about my car," he said. It seemed to take some effort for her to swallow the bite of bread she had taken before she looked at him cautiously. Peeta felt that overwhelming doubt creep up on him again and quickly changed his trajectory. "I was talking about Effie of course. Best publicist an aspiring actor could ask for."

A smile curved Katniss's lips, and Peeta assumed she was relieved. "And to so graciously give you an afternoon all to yourself, without any disruption," she said.

"I'm sure it's that, and not the fact that my phone is off," he said, pursing his lips and nodding.

"Battery die?" she said. She finished her slice of bread and began to spread cheese on another piece. She handed it to him and made another for herself.

Peeta noted this, and decided to play off of their casual conversation, where it was safe. "It's the strangest thing," he said. "I could have sworn that I charged it. Must be the spotty coverage."

"Must be," she said with a nod. She sat back on her elbows, and shook her head so that her hair fell around her shoulders in lose waves. "So now that we're here, what's the plan?" she asked. And then she gave him the look. The one where a single eyebrow arched slightly and her lips pouted in a way that screamed kiss me.

And so he did. His lips touching hers tentatively at first, until his insecurities washed away, and he kissed her the way he actually wanted to.

She pulled away, breathless, her gray eyes searching his. "What was that for?" she asked, but the smile on her lips suggested that she wasn't upset about it.

"I thought I saw a camera," he said, because keeping it casual was the best way to win her affections.

"I'll allow it," she said, chasing after his lips for another kiss.

He tilted his head just out of reach and smirked. "You'll allow it?" he repeated.

She nodded her head eagerly, her cheeks flushed, and lips puckering in anticipation. He rolled across the blanket until his body covered hers from shoulders to toes. The heat of their breath tangled momentarily before he was kissing her again. She lay her back against the blanket, her arms crowning around her head to give him better access to her lips, and throat, and... his hand skimmed the curve of her breast and she arched her back to meet his touch. This invigorated him, and he allowed the weight of his body to rest upon hers, tangling his hands with the ones she kept above her head.

His hips had just begun to involuntarily roll against hers when he felt a buzzing sensation on his thigh.

Katniss scrambled to retrieve it, forcing Peeta to roll onto his side.

"That's probably Haymitch," she said.

"Found his way back I see," Peeta muttered, not overly pleased with the intrusion.

Katniss sighed apologetically, but answered anyway. She turned away so that her back was to him and spoke with hushed tones, causing Peeta to _want_ to listen, even though he knew he wasn't supposed to.

"I've got to get back," she explained. Her hair was still mussed about her shoulders and he wanted so badly to just lie there and kiss her forever. "Is that all right?"

Casual, he reminded himself. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, sure," he said.

Katniss helped him pack up their picnic, but he trailed behind to watch her as she walked to the car. Wondering what in the hell he was going to do with himself.

* * *

Katniss stood outside of Haymitch's hotel room and lifted her hand to knock on the door. Naturally, there was no response at first, and she placed her hands on her hips, before knocking her fist with more vigor.

"Cool it, sweetheart," Haymitch said upon opening the door. He stepped aside for her to enter and then closed the door.

"I know you got your extra beauty sleep, but I see it didn't do much use," Katniss said, her eyes appraising him with her patented scowl.

"That's because I was taking care of other business," he said, folding his arms across his chest. He was dressed in a bathrobe, even though he had just returned from Pittsburgh, and had ostensibly been through a series of flights to return to Los Angeles.

"You're being eliminated from the Mockingjay this week, " he said simply.

Katniss felt the blood drain from her cheeks. She had done everything that Haymitch and the studio had asked of her. Had moved across the country. Entered a game show she never wanted to participate in. Even engaged in a romance, which as a young cynic went against everything she believed in. She had done all of these things with the expectation that she would provide her sister with a better life. Not return home with nothing.

"What?" she said incredulously. "I thought we had an arrangement."

"You wanted a record deal, right?" Haymitch said, cocking a curious brow. He moved to the hotel minibar to fix himself a drink. "I got you a record deal," he said with a smirk, sounding all too pleased with himself.

Katniss wasn't convinced, and crossed the room, standing just before the foot of his bed, with narrowed eyes. "I thought we were getting it through this reality show."

"We were," he agreed. "But I got you a better one."

Haymitch offered a drink to her, and against her better judgment, she accepted. "A better one?" she said, drawing out the words slowly.

"The Thirteenth District," he said. "It's an up and coming label started by Plutarch Heavansbee."

Katniss recalled the mysterious conversation she had with Plutarch at the garden party held at the Snow mansion. He kept on mentioning the thirteenth hour as if it held some importance to her. Thirteen.

"But he's an executive producer for the Mockingjay," she said. "Why would he start a rival record label?"

Haymitch lowered his voice, even though there was no one else in the room to hear their exchange. "There are plenty of people who aren't happy at Panem Pictures, and many of them are looking for other opportunities as we speak. Including you." He took a sip from his drink and moved to the far corner of the hotel suite where he took a seat. "According to the contract of the Mockingjay, so long as you're not in the top three finalists, you're free of any contractual obligations with the show and its record companies."

"So I lose the competition," Katniss said, making sure that she understood. "But I still get the record deal."

"No more funny clothing, no more regurgitated pop songs, no more jet setting as some golden boy's arm candy," Haymitch said.

"What kind of deal are we talking about?" she said, unable to let the words sink in quite yet.

"$750,000 advance for three albums with a portion of the sales," Haymitch said. "Not too bad for a nobody, if you ask me."

Katniss was stunned silent. $750,000? She could send Prim to medical school twice with that kind of money. All of their worries would be gone, and she would finally be able to provide her sister with the life she deserved. The excitement spread from her chest, out her limbs, shaking out at her fingertips, causing the ice in her glass to clink together in beautiful music. She could have hugged him, if he weren't Haymitch.

"It's over then," she said, still not quite believing it. "It's done."

"Not quite yet," he said with a heavy sigh. "The show is one thing, but we're not out of the woods with Panem Pictures. You still owe them a love story."

 _Peeta_ , she realized. Their romance had been strictly coordinated under Panem Pictures prying eyes, and once she was no longer a commodity of the brand, whatever she and Peeta had developed would become meaningless. But it wasn't meaningless. They working towards something. Something she couldn't yet quantify.

"I have to tell Peeta," she decided.

"No," he said quickly, and shook his head. "That's the last thing you want to do right now."

Katniss took a sip from her drink, letting the white liquid, warm her chest. "It effects him too, doesn't it?"

"Let me break this down for you," Haymitch said. "Panem Pictures leases out their most promising pretty boy to some unknown, powerless reality show contestant. Only to have this unknown, powerless reality show contestant spit in their face and make a mockery of their television program. But it's not just the television program that she makes a mockery of, it's the highly publicized romance she's established with their most promising pretty boy. I can assure you, they will not be happy with you."

"And if Peeta knows, then we can fix it," she said pointedly.

"This is above the kid's head sweetheart. It's above all of our heads at this point. Right now The Thirteenth District hasn't reached the Associated Press. But when it does?" he shook his head. "Fire is going to catch quickly." He finished what was in his glass then moved to pour another. "Panem Pictures owns every gossip rag in this town. They will dig up every nasty detail about your life and air it for the public to see, and Peeta Mellark? He'll come out smelling like roses."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Katniss asked, narrowing her eyes.

"What I mean is, the longer we can keep this under wraps, the better. Preferably until after you've been eliminated," he said with a quick nod. "We can build off the sympathy."

"And Peeta?" she said.

"The boy is going to be fine. In fact he'll probably be more than fine, with the way they'll spin this story." Haymitch set his glass on the counter top and turned to face her. "You get your record contract, he gets a gaggle of fans throwing themselves at his feet hoping to mend his broke heart. Everybody wins."

Katniss looked at her feet and tried her best to smile. This was what she had wanted. What she was fighting for. Her romance with Peeta was never supposed to be more than a business arrangement, but the feelings she had for him, they crept up on her. She wasn't in love with him, not yet anyway, things were too new to make those types of declarations. But if she was going to betray Panem Pictures, she would be asking too much of him to stand by her. The pressure. The guilt. She wouldn't be able to handle it if things didn't work out.

"Everybody wins," she said. She realized then that she was holding her breath. Unwilling to let it go.

* * *

Peeta pulled into his driveway, sliding up along side a powder pink Mercedes. Effie was not happy with him, he quickly deduced. So much so, that she was actually sitting vigilant on his front porch. Her hands folded on top of her lemon yellow skirt covered lap, and her thin purple lips frozen in a perpetual scowl.

"I hope you had fun this afternoon," she said, unamused.

He held up his cellphone prepared to make a lame excuse. "I'm sorry," he said instead. "I wanted some time to clear my head. Katniss too. So we played a little hooky. No harm, right?"

"I don't know what's gotten into you," she said with a contrite sigh. "You keep on going against the studio with the people you choose to align with. You missed your event last night and again this morning. And look at your hair," she grimaced at the blond curls that weren't quite his natural color yet. "Why is it yellow again?"

"I'm done," he said with a shrug of his shoulder. "I'm not playing the game anymore, okay? I'm over it. If Panem doesn't like it, they can find a new puppet."

"Oh Peeta. Please don't throw this all away over a girl," she said. Effie's purple lips disappeared when she pressed them together. "Something has happened," she said, her voice turning gentle, almost nurturing, which was very un-Effie like. "It's about Katniss."

Peeta felt a knot in his stomach, the type of twisting tension that spread to his knees to his shoulders and made his entire body feel too heavy. He shook away the creeping suspicion that something terrible had happened, because he knew that not to be the case. It hadn't even been a half an hour since he dropped Katniss off at her hotel. She was fine.

"What about her?" he said hesitantly.

Effie reached into her bag to retrieve her iPad and swiped her finger across the screen. "I received these images this morning from the agency. They claim they took them last night."

Peeta clenched his jaw tightly before he accepted the tablet. The image was dark, the only light coming from the doorway that they stood in. He recognized the dress Katniss wore, it was the same one she was wearing to dinner, when they had eaten stew at the Hob. The same dress she was wearing when they stood outside the restaurant. Her hair in the same loose curls that touched his finger tips when she kissed him for the first time, and then later in his hotel room. But she wasn't kissing him in this picture. She was kissing someone else.


	12. Old Brown Shoes, I Me Mine

One time when he was young, Peeta had been at the bakery with his father. It was winter, around Christmas, and they had stayed late to finish off an order of holiday cookies. By the time they were heading home, it was already dark out, and he remembered running into the parking lot, which was glistening beneath the street lamps – something that he should have noticed, now that he thought about it. He'd only made it a few steps before his feet slid from underneath him and his back hit the pavement. Hard. It took him several attempts before his lungs caught air again, and he just lay there on the sidewalk, gasping helplessly as if the fall had caused him to grow gills.

As he stared at the image in his hands, that's exactly how he felt. Like he couldn't breath. Like the chemical composition of the Earth's atmosphere had suddenly shifted to a lethal toxin. He gripped at the collar of his shirt to stretch it away from his neck, hoping that it would help. It didn't. He stumbled back a few steps, his legs collapsing beneath him, until the brunt of his weight was leaning against the banister.

She was kissing someone else. He'd seen him before. Hawthorne. Gale. He was a few years ahead of them, and everyone assumed that he had Katniss were a thing. Peeta had prayed that they were cousins, or something, they certainly looked it. But cousins didn't kiss that way.

His throat was dry, but he managed the words: "Who else has seen these?"

Effie looked at him apologetically.

When they had left for dinner, the sun was still up, so it had to have happened between the time they had left the Hob and the time she appeared at his hotel room, he reasoned. They were only apart for a few hours, when she had gone to visit her sister. And her sister was staying with family friends. The Hawthornes. Where Katniss was staying as well, and ostensibly where Gale would frequent. But if she was with Gale, then why did she end up in  _his_  hotel room? Spending the night with  _him._

That was jumping to conclusions though. Katniss wasn't his. She didn't belong to anyone. And the truth was, he'd been too much of a coward to tell her how he felt about her. So to expect her to stay faithful to something that didn't actually exist was kind of insane. It didn't stop him from feeling incredibly hurt. Or prevent his hand from clenching into a fist at the sight.

"Buy them all Effie. No one can see these," Peeta said tightly.

"Peeta you can't protect her," she said.

He flipped off the iPad and held it out to her. "It's not like she signed a contract," he said, his words clinging desperately to the back of his throat. "She can kiss whomever she wants."

"It's not that," she said and took the iPad from him to change the browser. She extended it back to him, opened to the gossip website TAZ, and again he found the picture staring back at him.

" _Mockingjay Finds Another Bird to Make Her Sing,"_  the headline read. He didn't bother reading the rest. All of those sorts of articles were the same. Sources say this. A close friend says that. He scrolled further to find an image of him and Katniss, but they weren't smiling. This was also typical. They weren't actually fighting in the photo, merely walking down the street, but the way their bodies were positioned and how the sun glared in their eyes, they didn't look happy.

This was the usual method for destroying a career, and Katniss was the definite target. He read the bottom caption:  _TAZ is a production of Panem Pictures._

"Why would they do this?" he said, his eyes scanning the same sentence over and over to be sure. "Why would the studio want to drag one of their stars through the mud?"

Effie took the tablet from him and frowned. "That's because Katniss isn't a part of Panem Pictures anymore." The tips of her lemon yellow fingernails brushed his cheek softly. "I'm afraid we've been tricked. It's all been an awful trick."

Peeta found himself gripping the railing of his porch so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The blood began to drain from his ears, whooshing in erratic patterns until he felt dizzy.

_An awful trick?_

It couldn't have been. He knew it by the way he held her. The way she had kissed him. It had been real.

"It's a misunderstanding," he said. "Whatever this is," he gestured towards the iPad in her hand. "They should have let her explain. They should have checked with us first."

"It doesn't work like that," Effie said. "It's not about the picture. Katniss found a way to take advantage of your kindness and Panem's exposure, and she played us all for a fool." Effie let out a huff that was far more genuine than her usual accosted expression, leaving Peeta feeling even more uneasy than before. "There was a leak in the Associate Press, about a rival record label to Panem's Capitol Records. Katniss Everdeen is one of the musical acts on the list." Her fuchsia tinted lips creased downward. "The studio had no other choice."

Peeta combed his fingers roughly through his mussed blond curls as he began to pace the length of the concrete porch. His eyes shut tight as he tried to steady his thoughts. All he could see were flashes of her smile. The way her eyes glistened in the sunlight when she gazed up at him. It hadn't seemed calculating. He had believed her. But if it had been sincere. If she had really meant it. She would have told him.

He stilled, suddenly, and his hands fell from his hair to rest around the back of his neck. "Why like this?" he asked. With Maureen it had been different. He had known the news before the tabloids released it. He was constantly prepped to deal with damage control. But this was sudden. A strike of lightening that painted them both in ugly lights.

Effie's eyes flitted away abruptly, and he knew, immediately, that she understood what he was implying.

"They're not happy with you either, Peeta," she shook her head. "I've been warning you, with the way you've been acting, but you haven't paid any attention to me." She was back to her normal demeanor. Her curls bouncing on top of her head as she spoke with passionate indignation. "I know that you're young – and that you want to believe the best in people – but in this business Peeta. You're only going to get hurt."

"They're using her against me, aren't they?" he said, his finger pointing at her accusingly. Effie coiled back with a surprised gasp, and Peeta blinked a few times, stunned by the menacing tone his voice took. One that he could barely recognize. He jammed his hands quickly into his jean pockets and looked at his feet. "I think you should go, Effie," he said. "I don't – I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Peeta," she said gently. "I'm worried about you." Peeta set his jaw, and Effie took the hint, moving across the porch to retrieve her purse. As she made her way towards the steps, she paused to touch a hand to his arm. "I know that you care about her. But I don't think you realize all that's on the line."

He chewed on the inside of his lip, worrying the skin between his teeth as he numbly watched Effie's powder pink Mercedes back out of the driveway. Fishing his phone from his pocket, he selected a number from his contact list and held it to his ear.

"Are you busy?" he said.

Finnick's chuckle bellowed on the other end of the line. "How many ways can I tell you, 'I told you so?' Let me count the ways."

"Funny, jackass," he mumbled. "I suppose you've heard the news."

"It's only my home page," Finnick said, his voice slanted by his obvious smirk. "Let me guess. You'd like a drink."

"For starters," Peeta said with a heavy sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping that it would help him to breathe. "Fuck," he shouted. "Do you think?"

"That she's sleeping with tall, dark, and handsome?" he mused. "I would."

"She slept with me last night," Peeta blurted out, his hand covering his face. "I mean not in the figurative way, the literal way, and I thought..."

"That she was into you."

He pressed his lips together, his eyes looking off into the distance without focusing on anything. "I don't know what I think anymore."

Finnick pulled into his driveway about twenty minutes later, a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand, that he pressed into Peeta's chest as he passed him through the doorway. He tossed his leather jacket across the back of the sofa, and lifted his feet onto the edge of the coffee table when he sat.

Peeta inspected the label and went to fetch some glasses from the kitchen. "When you suggested liquor, I assumed you were joking."

"Nonsense," Finnick said, accepting the glass that Peeta offered. "A man should never wallow without a good – mid level, glass of whiskey." He took a sip and then considered his statement. "I mean there are obvious exceptions, and one probably shouldn't engage in it alone too often. But this occasion practically begs for it."

Peeta slumped on the couch beside him and gazed at the amber liquid. "I feel like I've been kicked in the chest by an elephant," he said simply.

"I'm not sure if that would hurt much," Finnick said and threw back his glass. "They're legs are like stubs, I'm sure they couldn't kick very fast."

"Please, a bit of sympathy here," he said, and winced when he sipped his drink. "I'm suffering a major life ennui here."

Finnick picked up his phone, the browser opened to the tabloid page, and looked at it thoughtfully. "The kissing makes sense, I guess," he said. "Although truth be told, I kind of thought she liked you." He thumb ran across the screen and he pressed his fingers against his temple, his green eyes narrowing. "But the paps in Pittsburgh. Weren't they all Panem paid?"

Peeta nodded.

"Yet they still ran the pictures." He dropped the phone on the table. "What am I missing?"

Finishing his drink with a painful gulp, Peeta swiped the back of is hand across his mouth. "She's leaving the Mockingjay to sign with a competing record label," he said. "Panem caught wind of it before the news broke."

Finnick filled both of their glasses, his lips pursing with a smacking sound before he spoke. "So let me get this straight. In the last 24 hours, she's gotten close to this guy, especially close to you, and has a controversial record contract that's about to break."

"What are you getting at?"

"It's just... the timing is odd," Finnick said, and let out a heavy sigh as he sat back against the cushions.

Peeta narrowed his eyes, and refused the glass offered to him with a wave of his hand. "You think it was all an act," he said harshly. "That doesn't even make sense. We've been acting the whole time."

"For the cameras, yes," Finnick agreed. "But what about to each other?"

Peeta's eyes darted away quickly, and he clenched his jaw tightly to subdue the grimace that threatened to crease his lips. Finnick teased his glass of whiskey against his teeth, but didn't take a sip, instead placing it back onto the coffee table to rest his elbows on his knees.

"That picnic, over at Snow's a few days ago," Finnick said. "She kept on asking these questions about you and Maureen. I figured – I assumed it was her weird way of saying that she liked you. You know in that way that emotionally closed off people do. But, I don't know," he ran a tired hand through his bronze hair. "Maybe it was about losing her free ticket to stardom."

"And that's why she kissed me," Peeta said, his voice barely breaking a mumble.

"It wouldn't be the first time something like that happened in this business."

Peeta reached for his whiskey and emptied it in one swig. He reached for the bottle and watched the amber liquid slosh over the rim of the glass as he roughly poured.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Finnick said gently. "It happens to the best of us." Peeta let the whiskey burn his throat in a steady stream. "I know you liked her."

"I don't want to talk about it," he said tightly.

"Peeta, I'm serious, you don't deserve this," he said. "It's this town. The way they operate. They're always looking for something and when they find it, they chew you up and they spit you out."

And suddenly it all made sense. The tightness in his chest, that was turning dull, almost numb. It was that emptiness behind Finnick's smile, and the vacant look in Maureen's eyes. The warnings his friends had been heeding for months now echoed in his mind until he gripped both ears to silence them. He understood now, why Maureen turned to pills, and Finnick hid his relationship with Annie from the spotlight, the alternative hurt too much. He couldn't trust anything, or anyone. Nothing was real.

"Feel free to break out into choruses of 'I told you so,'" Peeta mumbled. He poured another glass, his vision struggling to focus on the table in front of him. "I think I need to wallow on my own for a while."

"Maybe I'm wrong," Finnick offered. He hesitated to stand, and took the bottle of Jack from the table before he moved to the door.

Peeta kept his eyes on the floor, listening to the door creek open a click shut. It was true, Finnick could be wrong, but the prospect seemed unlikely. Every scenario that played in his mind ended the same way. He had fallen helplessly for a fantasy that did not exist.

His phone buzzed to indicate a new text message, the words were blurry across the screen when he attempted to read it. It was a message from Katniss, and he laughed bitterly at the dismissive apology explaining that she couldn't come over.

"Of course not," he said, and threw the phone across the room.

* * *

Katniss lay on the stiff mattress of her giant bed, surrounded by a plethora of overstuffed white pillows. The thermostat was set too low and the tip of her nose was cold from where it peeked above the down comforter. She stared dully at the dark ceiling before glancing at the alarm clock on the bedside table.

6:08

The red numbers flashed. Exactly three minutes past the last time she had looked at the clock. A common pattern that had emerged around midnight, when she had first tried to fall asleep. All attempts had proven to be unsuccessful.

Sun light began to creep through the heavy curtains that she hadn't thought to draw closed, forcing her to bury her face in a pillow to find darkness.

She was supposed to be at Peeta's. That was what they had planned for after she met with Haymitch. But the contract, and betraying Panem Pictures, and hiding it from Peeta, it was all too much for her to face him. She had sent him a text, a brief one, explaining an early call with the show in the morning, even though there was nothing scheduled. And his response seemed to have come with some amount of hesitation. A simple, "Okay," which made her heart catch in her throat in a mixture of anxiety and guilt and dread.

What would happen when he knew?

There was a soft thump against her door, and Katniss scrambled to sit up straight. The time on the clock hadn't changed, and Haymitch didn't even know that this time of day existed. She threw back the comforter, craning her neck to inspect the door carefully, before climbing out of bed to answer it.

There was nobody at the door when she opened it, and the hallway was clear in both directions, but at her feet was a manilla folder with her name scrawled across it in black sharpie. She bent over to retrieve it, carefully unfastening the metal clasp that sealed it to slip out the contents.

Her eyes narrowed at the title of a tabloid that she had only vaguely heard of, but as she took in the contents of the page she nearly gasped. It was a picture of her and Gale, kissing outside of the Seam in the dead of night when she thought they had been alone. In fact, she had barely even thought about the kiss since it had happened. It was closure, that's all. She ripped through the magazine, finding the article that spouted about her secret affair. Her knees began to buckle and she steadied herself in the door frame when her eyes landed on Peeta's wounded face.

In a daze, her feet began moving on their own accord until she was in Haymitch's room. She clutched the magazine in her fist, watching his heavy, uneven breaths. Her hands trembled as she debated waking him, but instead she reached for the keys on the counter next to the television. Haymitch had rarely left his room since they had arrived in LA and his rental car had remained mainly dormant ever since.

She rushed to the parking garage, weaving up and down the rows as she scrambled to press buttons on the key pad. Finally, the taillights on a red sedan came to life. Katniss ripped open the door and brought the engine to life. The drive to Peeta's house was one that she was only slightly familiar, yet she made all the turns with ease until she was pulling into his driveway.

Her heart thumped in her ears, causing her to grip the steering wheel with white knuckles to scare the anxiety away. She wasn't sure what to say. That the picture was a lie? But then what? She was still lying to him.

Letting out a breath she didn't know that she was holding, she unclasped her seat belt and walked to his door. He answered on the second knock. His hair disheveled, and his eyes sunken and puffy. He was still wearing the same clothing from yesterday, and Katniss frowned as she took in his appearance. His eyes flitted to the tabloid clutched to her chest, causing her entire body to tense.

"I need –," her throat felt too dry to speak and she cleared it quickly before she continued. "I need to talk to you."

He stared at her for a moment. His lips pursed thoughtfully, and his gaze held a surprising coldness that frightened her. Suddenly though, his expression became unreadable and he turned his back to her to move back into the living room. "If this is about the pictures, I already know," he said evenly.

Katniss tipped back the magazine enough to see the photo again, and she shook her head vigorously before chasing after him. "I can explain..." she said.

"It's fine," Peeta said, shrugging a tired shoulder. "I get it. It's business."

"Business?" she repeated. She lifted the tabloid and waved it at him accusingly. "Did you know about this? Did you do this?"

"No, I didn't," he said harshly. "In fact I tried to stop it, but I'm sorry. There's only so much I can do for you."

"Do for me?" she spat. "I don't need your help."

"I know," he said. "Not anymore at least." He pointed at the magazine in her hands. "You've got everything you want now."

"This kiss meant nothing, Peeta," she shouted, her voice nearly unrecognizable. "That's what I would have told you, if you had asked, instead of jumping to conclusions and plastering it everywhere that people could see."

He flinched, his mouth gaping as he tried to form a defense. He shook his head briskly. "This isn't about the kiss Katniss, and you know it."

She didn't know though. Peeta had seen the pictures and was upset over them. That was what she knew.

"I know about the contract," he said. Katniss stumbled back a few steps, collapsing against the door frame. "The studio knows. That's why they released those pictures. It had nothing to do with me."

"Peeta," she sighed. "I had no idea. I only found out about it yesterday."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he begged. "It effects me too you know. I put my career on the line to help you." He ran a hand through his blond curls tersely. "I just wish that you trusted me enough to tell me. I thought that..." Peeta said, his words trailing off with a heavy breath.

"You thought what?" she asked carefully.

"This thing between us," he said, gesturing at the empty space that separated them. "I thought that maybe it was something more than an act."

She frowned and took a few careful steps towards him before her lips tipped up into half a grin. "It is," she said.

He lifted his eyes to meet hers. Bright blue eyes hesitant, betrayed by the hopeful smile that spread across his lips.

He moved the meet her in the center of the room, but faltered. "I can't – I can't pretend anymore, okay? Too many things here are a lie, and I can't do that anymore. It's driving me crazy! There are so many people that I've seen fall apart over these games. I don't want to be one of them Katniss. I don't want to lose myself that way. And I'm afraid that if I keep up with this act, that I'm going to lose myself.

"I don't want to worry over photos, and question everything about you because I'm too much of a coward to tell you how I feel." His hand touched her cheek, and she sank into his warmth. Katniss' eyes fluttered shut, a hot tear that she hadn't felt slipping down her cheek. "I love you," he said, and her entire body ached at the declaration. "I've loved you since we were kids, and I need to know that you feel that way too."

Her heart began to beat impossibly fast, pumping blood to her ears, deafening her to the sound of silence that lingered between them. Her eyelids fluttered open to meet his uncertain gaze. "Katniss?" he said. "Say something? Please."

"Peeta, I –," her voice caught in her throat, and her cheek felt cold the second he retracted his hand from her face. She cared about him. She knew that. But love? The kind that led to marriage and a family, that wasn't something she was ever looking for in life. She wanted to take care of her sister, and she accomplished that. These feeling she developed for him weren't a part of the deal and it terrified her.

What would happen if she let this grow? If she devoted herself so completely to someone as her mother had with her father. She couldn't lose herself that way. The thought of Peeta slipping away from her already hurt too much.

"It was all a game," he said, stepping away from her. "The way you acted."

"Not all of it," she said quickly.

"How much?" he said. "If all of the cameras were gone tomorrow, what would be left?"

"I don't – I don't know," she said. "I care about you, I do. But I was never looking for anything serious. You know that." Folding her arms across her chest, she chewed on the inside of her lip. "The closer we get, the more confusing it is."

He took a painfully deep breath and said, " Well let me know when you figure it out."

Peeta stomped to the kitchen with heavy foot steps as Katniss watched, choking on the threat of tears. She moved to the doorway, ready to leave, when she saw the paparazzi creeping in the bushes outside. She wasn't sure that it surprised her. News of her torrid affair would mean cameras lining the streets around his house and her hotel room trying to get a glimpse of the full tale.

She dried her eyes and took a few breaths to steady herself, her face void of emotion. Her hand had just touched the doorknob when she felt his light grip on her wrist. His eyes were focused out the window, empty, hollow orbs staring numbly into space. "Let me walk you out," he said. His hand moved from her wrist to lace his fingers with hers, and he opened the door to guide her out.

Across the lawn, she could hear the chorus of clicking camera lenses, but her eyes stayed locked on the hard lines of Peeta's face.

"One more time? For the audience?" he said coolly.

In a daze, her feet dragged behind him, and she was startled by the foreign feel of his lips pressed to hers as he cupped her cheeks and kissed her against the side of Haymitch's rental car. He opened the driver's side door, helping her slide into her seat, and she gripped his hand tightly, her eyes pleading with his empty gaze, unable to let go.


	13. Till There Was You

Katniss adjusted the strap of her guitar across her shoulder so that the worn fabric didn't cut into her neck. She hoisted the body of the instrument to rest across her hips, and plucked a few strings. The brick wall she leaned against was cool against her denim jacket, and the material snagged against the rough surface when she arched her back to sit up straight. She began to hum as the strings vibrated a melody, nearly forming words before she paused to let her fingers linger just above the chords.

She was immune to the bustle of footsteps from up and down the street. The steady stream of faceless figures moving passed her was almost soothing. Like she was in her own protective cocoon of anonymity. She missed being forgotten, and unknown, and Pittsburgh was the closest place she could find that again. She certainly couldn't find that peace in Los Angeles. Not with all of those people watching her every move.

Blindly reaching her hand across the concrete sidewalk, she retrieved her pen, and began to scribble words across a clean sheet of her notebook that was resting against her hip. She smiled as she read over work, but it faltered the second time, and by the third time she read her words, she was frowning and crossing it out furiously.

"Just write one damn song," Haymitch had huffed when she handed him a blank notebook earlier in the week.

Plutarch and the studio had already bled her previous song book dry, much to her chagrin, and she was adamant against using any of the bubblegum pop songs they kept waving in front of her. She'd played enough false roles in the past few months, and she was done presenting herself as anything else.

The problem was, she didn't want to share any part of herself with the media. And everything she wrote down seemed so... personal. She had never been one to talk about her feelings. She never even  _thought_  of her feelings for that matter. Yet, there they were, staring her in the face in a mocking cursive.

The shadow of a small profile obscured her sun, and Katniss glanced up to see her sister standing before her.

"Out here again?" Prim asked, as she folded her legs beneath and sat down beside her.

"Only for a bit," Katniss said, setting down her notebook.

Prim picked it up and flipped through the pages, all stained with black bars of ink. Holding it up to the sun, her eyebrows knotted together curiously as she tried to decipher the blacked out words. "This was a good one, Katniss. Why did you scratch it out?"

"I didn't like it," she said, lifting the book from her sister's grasp.

Prim rolled her eyes. "That's not surprising. You don't like anything."

"I used to like you," she said with a teasing grin that betrayed the glare in her eyes. Katniss tucked the notebook behind her back, and hunched over her guitar to inspect the strings as they vibrated. She could feel her sister's eyes upon her, watching her with worry, and Katniss distractedly strummed to block the image.

"You miss him, don't you?" Prim said, undeterred by her sister's obvious reluctance towards the topic.

"Miss whom?" she said, even though she was fully aware of who her sister immplied.

"I heard he left Hollywood too," she said. "Skipped all of his red carpet premieres."

"Prim," Katniss said tightly. She lifted her chin from her guitar, and gave her a warning look. "I've told you, it's complicated."

"It doesn't have to be," she said. Drawing her knees to her chest, Prim hugged her arms around them. "He likes you, Katniss. What's complicated about that?"

"It's more than that," she said with a sigh. "He wanted something from me that I couldn't give him."

"A chance?"

"You're too young to understand," Katniss said dismissively, shaking her head.

"And so are you," Prim said. "If this is about mom, then you're being crazy."

Katniss scowled at her sister. She was fifteen now, but she didn't look it. Katniss refused to see her as a young woman, despite evidence to the contrary, and she certainly wouldn't heed the young girl's idealism.

"Do you know what he said to me the last time we spoke?" she said, her voice coming out more harshly then she had intended. "That he was afraid of losing himself." She folded her hands in her lap, and allowed her eyes to drift vacantly up the street. "I can't be that to him. It's too much pressure."

"It doesn't mean he depends on you," Prim said. "Maybe it means that he's not afraid to be vulnerable. To tell you how he feels."

"Being vulnerable is a dangerous thing," Katniss said. She had allowed herself a moment to be vulnerable and it was exploited to the point that it blew up in her face.

In the aftermath of her kiss with Gale, she was hounded by the paparazzi hired by Panem Pictures, she could only assume. They scoured around the hotel that she stayed at, and followed her up the streets harassing her with questions about her love life and virtue. The Thirteenth District hired the best public relations representatives in the business to defend her, and an all out war broke out upon the covers of tabloid magazines with "he said, she said" accusations.

The exposure became so overwhelming, that Katniss couldn't even leave her hotel room without being attacked. LA was becoming dangerous to her, and she became a prisoner in her own body. Plutarch was certain that Panem would let up, and that all the publicity she was getting was a great thing for The Thirteenth District, but Haymitch came to her aid, convincing the record label that the only way Katniss would be an asset to the company was if she was out of the limelight and given time to rebuild her image.

Reluctantly, Katniss was sent back home to Pittsburgh.

During this time Peeta had all but disappeared from the spotlight as well. He was starring in one of the biggest movies of the summer, yet wasn't seen on a single red carpet, or on any talk shows. It was as if he had completely vanished.

"It doesn't have to be," Prim said, sounding exasperated. Katniss couldn't help but smile at how young and innocent her sister appeared in this moment. It almost made her wish that she could be that naïve too.

Katniss reached out and tugged the small, tapered end of Prim's braid with a grin. "Don't you have better things to be doing, Little Duck? Saving the world and things?"

"I do have to be at the hospital in an hour," she admitted. She'd been volunteering through the summer as a candy striper, but now that school had begun again, she could only take shifts during the weekend. "Are you sure you're okay?" she said, her thin lips wavering into a frown.

Katniss retrieved her guitar from her case and rested it in her lap again. "I'm fine. It's you that worries too much."

"I do not," Prim said, rising to her feet to place her hands on her hips. "I'm just tired of you moping around all the time, because you're too much of a chicken to go after what you really want."

"And I'm tired of you wasting your brilliant little brain on silly things like my life, when you could be off curing cancer or something."

Prim rolled her eyes and shook her head before leaving her sister where she sat on the street. Katniss watched her small frame disappear in the crowd before turning her attention back to her strings. She strummed a few chords into a melody, before reaching for her notebook again to write a few notes.

" _Fly, fly, won't catch me when I fall, I'll just flap my wings and rise above it all. Chase all my troubles away, it was dangerous from the start, but I couldn't stay away, fooled me to play in these games of the heart._ "

She bit her bottom lip between her teeth, ready to scribble out her work when a pair of feet slowed down before her. She lifted her eyes, using her hand to shield the afternoon sun from her face, as she inspected him carefully.

Peeta.

He was wearing worn sneakers, and loose fitting jeans that sagged on his hips and were dusted with something white. Flour, she thought she could smell when a gust of wind tickled beneath her nose. He had a brown paper sack hoisted against his hip, and she was certain that the look of shock across his face mirrored hers.

"Katniss?" he said.

She ducked her head and smiled sheepishly. "You're back," she said as evenly as possible.

"I – um, hey," he said, scuffing his foot against the sidewalk. "I didn't realize that you were too."

"I didn't either," she said. "I mean you, that is."

"I am," he nodded and let out a nervous chuckle. "I haven't for long though, only about a week."

"Oh," she smiled at him. "How are you?"

He adjusted the grocery bag in his arms. "I'm good. I'm better now," he said.

"I hadn't heard from you in a while," she said.

He laughed again, lifting a hand to scratch behind his ear. "That was kind of the point."

It took her a moment to catch her breath, and she stared down at her guitar as if it were the only thing in her world. Closing her eyes tightly, she licked her lips before she spoke. "Look, Peeta, I'm sorry." She chanced a glance at him. Watched as he pursed his lips and nodded a few times, as if he was just as lost in this conversation as she was.

"Do you think..." he said, sighing as he clenched his jaw. "Do you maybe want to take a walk?"

"Yes," she found herself saying without comprehending the question. He waited for her to pack away her guitar and they walked to her car in silence where she slipped the case into the back seat.

The air was cool as they walked along the river, and Katniss tightened her jacket around her, folding her arms across her chest to hold in the heat. Peeta hugged his bag of groceries between both arms as he walked beside her. His blond curls catching in the breeze off the water and pushing off his forehead. It seemed like they had walked halfway across the city before he finally spoke.

"I need to apologize," he said, his eyes focused on something in the distance. "About how things went down. I shouldn't have said the things that I said, and more importantly, I shouldn't have let the studio go after you."

The sun was sinking towards the horizon, casting an orange glow against his ashen skin. "I know that we had a deal. That there were set terms, and that I broke them and expected things from you that I shouldn't have, and I'm sorry." He let out an uneasy breath and shook his head. "I fooled myself into thinking it was real, to the point that I didn't know what was real anymore."

Katniss tightened her grip around her body, a chill striking her that wasn't from the cold. "Peeta, I –."

"How have you been?" he asked, stopping her from her thought.

"I've been all right," she said. "I've been here, working on my album."

"I bet it's great," he said, the earnestness filling her with unexpected warmth.

"It's really not," she said, unable to suppress a giggle.

"I'd buy it," he said, his grin matching hers.

Their eyes met and she found it hard to breath. She looked away, her voice catching in her throat. "Where'd you go?"

"I did some traveling, just to clear my head. Something drew my back here though, so here I am."

"You filming another movie?" she asked, dropping her chin to watch her feet with each step.

"No," he said quickly. "I probably won't be doing that for a while. The Archie sequel got green lit, but the studio is already screening for replacements." He let out another laugh. He was doing that a lot. He seemed happy. "The studio wasn't very happy with me."

"That was my fault," she said.

He stopped suddenly, and Katniss took a few steps past him before she pivoted to face him. She lifted her gaze to meet his, his blue eyes twinkling from the light off the water, and his soft lips lifting into a half grin. She felt her heart catch in her throat, forcing her to look away again.

"It wasn't," he said. "Really." He took a deep breath, silence settling between them. Katniss chewed on the inside of her lip, her eyes flitting towards his face, before darting away again. "I can't pretend that I didn't feel wounded by what happened. But it was more than that. Hollywood in general, I didn't want to be a piece in that game anymore."

His curls were blowing haphazardly through the breeze, and she felt her fingers tingling, longing to brush them off his forehead. "What are you up to now?" she asked.

He held up the bag of groceries and nodded towards them. "There was a vacant shop next to my father's bakery, so I rented it, and I'm going to open my restaurant. Apparently there's not a market for a carb based menu out in LA, but out here people are crazy for the stuff."

"That's really great," she said, nodding absently.

"Do you want to come by and see it?" he asked, shifting the weight of his grocery bag to hook a thumb over his shoulder towards a row of shops that she recognized to contain Mellark's bakery.

She felt overwhelmed by the urge to touch him. To rest her head against the warmth of his chest and feel his strong arm wrap around her waist. To feel the soft sweetness of his lips on hers. "Maybe some other time," she choked out.

Peeta's eyebrow arched curiously, and he watched her carefully for a moment before finally saying, "Okay." His eyes seemed to appraise her and his mouth tilted into a wider grin. "It was really nice seeing you again, Katniss."

She watched him back away towards the curb, his foot lifted to step into the street when the words slipped desperately from her lips. "Peeta I miss you," she said.

He paused, his foot dangling in the air above the asphalt. Katniss felt her heart beating in her ears at her declaration, and stood, frozen in the autumn air, hoping that perhaps he didn't hear her declaration. But then he was turning to face her. And his eyes and smile were so bright that she couldn't help buy smile in return.

"I don't – I'm not sure what was real either," she admitted. "But maybe we could – maybe we could figure it out together."

"I'd like that," he said. His eyes fell to her lips, and breath caught in her throat. Hoping that he would kiss her, but relieved when he offered one last curt nod saying, "See ya, Katniss," before he stepped across the street.

* * *

Katniss stepped onto the stage, the bright lights focused on the usually darkened corner of The Seam bar. She sat on the stool placed in the center, and tilted the microphone until it met her lips. She tapped on the mesh, metal bulb one time, then twice, waiting for the feedback before she began to sing. She had a drummer now, and a keyboard player too, and they played in sync with the strumming of her guitar.

" _There were birds in the sky_  
But I never saw them winging  
No I never saw them at all  
Till there was you"

Her eyes scanned across the crowd, the darkened faces unrecognizable, until finally, her gaze met his. And she couldn't fight the smile that creased her lips as she sang.

She and Peeta had grown back together, slowly at first, then all at once. It was different, without the cameras and the cues from Haymitch and Effie. But without the outside influence, things were easier in a way. Some afternoons they spent in his restaurant. Him working on new recipes, while she scribbled lyrics in her notebook, singing the tunes sweetly to gain his approval.

Weeks passed before he kissed her again. They were in the kitchen, quietly working when he offered to teach her how to make a basic loaf. She had approached him with a sense of determination. Rarely had she ever cooked, and the few times that she had attempted, the concoctions were barely passable as edible, although no one told her such, and they politely finished the dishes.

Peeta had all the ingredients lined up in a neat row across the steel counter top. A large glass bowl placed before her. He had picked up the pile of perfectly measured flour, and extended it towards her. She was just about to accept it from him when he leaned forward, his lips curling into an 'O' and he puffed a large cloud of powder into her face. Flour clinging to the ends of her eyelashes and masking her face.

She had scowled at him, wiping the flour from her cheeks, while he chuckled proudly at himself. "I can't believe you wasted all that!" she said indignantly. She reached for the small basin of water, the liquid warm, and cloudy when she splashed it into his face.

"That was yeast!" he said between fits of laughter. "So if you're counting pennies, you're the one being wasteful!"

Katniss had narrowed her eyes at him and backed up until her hips hit the counter behind her. Peeta's eyes turned dark then, and he approached her, as if hunting his prey. She felt that heat again. The one that warmed in her chest and spread to the surface of her skin, hungry to be touched.

His arms trapped her against the basin of the sink, his hips pinning her in place, and she reveled at the feel of his lips teasing against hers. He was just about to kiss her, when she found the hose on the sink, drenching him with water until his curls were heavy, and matted against his forehead. He wrestled it from her, directing the cold stream down her shirt until her clothing was drenched. But then the hose was cast aside, and the sound of their laughter was drowned in soft, eager pants, and then he was kissing her. His lips cold from the water, and tiny droplets that clung to the ends of his curls were dripping down her cheeks.

And as she strummed the chords of the song, her body tingled at the thought of his touch. How it felt to stretch beside him in the meadow with her ear resting over the heartbeat in his chest.

One day she would be in the spotlight again, when the record was complete and tour dates were on the horizon, and all of those uncertainties of Hollywood would again loom like a dark shadow. But she knew that she had this, and it was something that the tabloids could no longer touch. It was her game to play now with her rules.

" _Then there was music and wonderful roses  
They tell me in sweet fragrant meadows of dawn and dew_

"There was love all around  
But I never heard it singing  
No I never heard it at all  
Till there was you"

When her set list was finished, and she had nodded politely at the applause, Katniss stepped off the stage and slipped into the small dressing room to pack away her things. She heard the door open and shut gently behind her.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say your were singing to someone in the audience," his voice filled her ears from the doorway.

"I hope you aren't jealous," she said airily. She felt his hands on her hips , and he heat of his body behind her. She turned in his arms to face him, the blue of his eyes shadowed by the dimly lit room.

He tucked a loose curl behind her ear, the pads of his fingers tracing the line of her jaw before he leaned in closely. "You love me," he whispered into her ear, the heat of his breath against her neck causing her head to fall back and her back to arch until their chests were pressed flush together. He caught her hip with his hand to pin her body to his, and his nose nuzzled into the crook of her neck. "Real or not real?" he murmured.

She gasped, her eyelids fluttering with lashes that tickled her cheeks. Her hands ran up his chest to cup his face in her hands, and she kissed him. His mouth hot and eager to meet every slant of her lips. She drew back, her breath shallow when she finally said:

"Real."


End file.
